Shawn and the Friendly Neighborhood Stalker
by Nixa Jane
Summary: It's another case that no one else believes is a case, and Shawn would be figuring it all out a lot quicker if didn't have to deal with a break-in and a stalker, that may or may not be related.
1. Ingles Dupree, Stalker Extraordinaire

Part One: Ingles Dupree, Stalker Extraordinaire

Shawn was waiting on the corner when Gus finally rolled up in the little blue car. "Dude, I said A.S.A.P!"

Gus didn't even bother glaring at him. He just climbed out of the car with a kind of resigned sigh. "I was in the middle of a meeting, Shawn. What's so important?"

"We've got a new case," Shawn said proudly.

Gus walked over, suspicious, since nine times out of ten when Shawn decided they had a case, no one else knew they were working it, or they weren't getting paid, or someone else was getting the credit, or possibly all three. "Really? The Chief called us in?"

Shawn blinked at him innocently, which just went to prove all of Gus's suspicions correct. "Uh. Not exactly. I was listening to the police scanner again, but this is going to be something big, I can tell. This place is a customer service call center for an online clothing store, Alice Clothing or something, and it gets broken into? There's nothing there except digital information that'll be instantly traced. So either we're dealing with really stupid criminals, or something else is going on."

Gus crossed his arms. "And you're just going to walk in there and flail around a little and hope they give you the case?"

"You know me so well," Shawn said. "It's like you're the one that reads minds."

"Neither of us can read minds, Shawn," Gus snapped. "I thought we agreed we were both signing off on cases now."

"You'll sign off on this," Shawn said. "As soon as I get it for us."

"Shawn!" Gus tried to snag his shirt as he spun on his heels and went right under the crime scene tape, but he wasn't quick enough. He resignedly followed him inside, knowing it was too late to stop him now.

Shawn had his eyes pressed closed, one hand reaching out as if for balance. "Yes, yes, it's here! Gus! What I'm sensing is here!"

Gus saw Juliet and Lassiter look over. Juliet stepped forward in concern and Lassiter just rolled his eyes.

"Oh, god! Oh, it's awful! Gus!" Shawn shouted. He suddenly started shaking his leg, so violently that he ended up falling to the floor on his back, arms splayed behind him. "Something awful has happened here!" Shawn finally opened his eyes, only to see Lassiter glaring down at him. "Lassie!"

Lassiter rolled his eyes again, and reached down to grab Shawn's arms, pulling him unceremoniously to his feet. "Take a good look around, Spencer. What we have here is a prank."

Shawn narrowed his eyes as he saw the spray paint all over the walls, most of it pink. Robbers wouldn't have left such an obvious call sign, not if they were any good. He saw a woman that looked about twenty sitting in the corner, with Buzz handing her a coffee, and wondered if she saw anything or was just the one that called it in. There weren't any other employees that he could see.

Shawn focused in on the shift schedule that had been written on a large whiteboard against the back wall. Someone named Amber has her name crossed out in red on every day starting yesterday. He quickly put his hand to his head again, before falling back against the wall. "Wait, I'm sensing something else--there's someone. . . someone has recently left the company."

The girl in the corner quickly got to her feet. "That's right! It was Amber! She just up and left. I came in early to relieve her off the night shift, but she wasn't even here. She didn't even lock everything up."

Shawn grinned widely, turning to glance smugly in Lassiter's direction.

"But it isn't as though it's exactly out of character for her to leave me in a lurch, if you know what I mean," she continued.

Lassiter stepped forward. "Have you spoken to her since?"

"I called and called and she wouldn't answer, but eventually I got in touch with her husband, and I guess she ran off with some other guy." She started chewing on her hair, and Shawn stared in morbid fascination. "Personally, I say good riddance. She was horrible and she always yelled at me."

"Yeah, that's fascinating," Lassiter said.

Shawn could see that his patience was nearing its end. He took another look around the room. He could just make out the security computers on the reception desk, the screen was split into four windows and all of them were showing static.

He pressed his eyes shut again, holding out his hand. "Wait. Wait--there's something else. The security video, it's--"

"Yes, Spencer, the recordings were wiped, we know," Lassiter said, with a kind of long-suffering tone. "It was so we couldn't see the punks that did this, but what they did is perfectly obvious. Nothing was stolen, and none of the computers were hacked." He turned back to O'Hara. "We're done here."

Juliet gave Shawn a helpless shrug and stated after Lassiter.

"But--wait!" Shawn said. "Who would break into a place with security cameras just to have some fun with some spray paint? They could have done their little drawings on the outside walls. This is not about that."

"You see those," Lassiter said, placing his hands on Shawn's shoulders to spin him back towards the graffiti. "Those are gang signs. This block? This block just so happens to be in gang territory."

Shawn tilted his head as he recognized a distinct symbol on the wall. "Wait, I'm confused, are you telling me the Crips have come to Santa Barbara? And we're having gang wars with pink spray-paint now?"

Lassiter frowned as he recognized that one of the symbols was indeed a calling card from the Crips, and then shook his head. Gangs were often offshoots of other gangs, and he had more important things to worry about than their lineage. They had tasks forces specifically for this kind of thing.

"How do you even know what the Crips signs are?" Spencer opened his mouth, hand already going to his temple in preparation for another psychic performance, and Lassiter quickly held up a hand to forestall him. "You know what? Never mind, Spencer. This isn't a case."

Lassiter motioned O'Hara to follow him again and then started towards the door.

"Oh, like you've never said that before!" Shawn called after him.

Gus gave him a shove. "Will you stop that? I hate to admit it, but I think Lassiter might be right for once."

Shawn frowned. "Yeah, but it is weird, right? I mean, seriously weird."

"Let's go, Shawn," Gus said grabbing Shawn's arm to tug him along as he ducked back under the crime scene tape. "I've got to get back to my route. You want me to drop you off somewhere?"

Shawn shook his head. "No. I think I'm going to stick around here for awhile. See if I get anymore psychic vibes."

Gus rolled his eyes. "You do that."

Shawn noticed a blue BMW parked across the street when the sun bounced off something inside. He narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, but the BMW pulled away before he could see anything. "Did you see that?" Shawn asked.

"Lots of people stop to watch crime scenes, Shawn," Gus said. "They're called Looky-loos."

Shawn paused, slowly turning to face his friends. "Looky-loos? Really, Gus? That's the official name for people that stop to watch crime scenes?"

Gus glared at him. "Well, what do you call it?"

"Rubberneckering," Shawn said. "Rubberneckites? Rubberneckers!"

"Whatever, Shawn," Gus said. "I'm rubbernecking out of here."

"That doesn't even make any sense!" Shawn shouted after him.

xxxxxx

Gus was just heading home when his cell phone started ringing, with the Madonna ringtone Shawn had made specific to his calls. Gus still hadn't figured out to undo it.

"I need a ride," Shawn said, without preamble. "I'm lost in Gangland."

"Whatever, Shawn. You can joke but gangs are a serious problem in Santa Barbara, and you shouldn't be out there wandering off alone." Gus was feeling slightly guilty for bailing out earlier, but watching out for Shawn was a twenty-four hour job, and he had two others. "Where are you?"

"Still by Alice Clothing," Shawn said.

"I'll be right there," Gus told him, before hanging up.

He managed to get the same parking space he'd used before, right in front, but Shawn was not waiting where he said he would be. Gus checked the clock. It was almost eight, but this late in the summer it was thankfully still bright. He got out of the car to look for his wayward friend.

He found him right across the street, window shopping at Suncoast Video and eating an ice cream. Gus was sadly not surprised. "Shawn!" he shouted. "Come on. We're leaving."

Shawn turned towards him, still frowning, and Gus changed his mind, and wondered if Shawn had noticed anything that was inside the video store at all. His mind seemed somewhere else.

"There's something more to this, Gus," Shawn said. "I'm fairly certain about that."

"The police will work it out, I'm not getting involved with gangs, Shawn," Gus said.

Shawn had a look in his eyes that worried Gus. He knew that look. It meant Shawn had no intention of letting this go anytime soon, but to Gus's relief, he at least started back towards the car.

Gus followed him, but glanced behind him when he felt that eerie 'being watched' feeling he was regrettably used to--usually, it was Shawn that was following him, but this time he saw someone he didn't recognize slip behind a street sign to try and hide the moment he glanced around. He could see about six inches of pinstriped shirt sticking out either side of the stop sign pole, but the man's head at least was effectively hidden by the red octagon.

Gus grabbed Shawn's arm. "Shawn! Shawn, we're being followed."

"Oh, yeah. Don't worry about him, that's just my stalker," he said. Shawn gave a cheerful wave to the stalker, who was peeking out shyly from the stop sign. "His name is Ingles Dupree," Shawn continued, with a slight laugh. "Ingles Dupree. Can you believe that? It sounds like the name of a dog food company."

"Your stalker?" Gus repeated, narrowing his eyes.

"It's okay, Gus, he's cool. He bought me this ice cream."

Gus quickly reached over and knocked the ice cream out of his hands. "You don't eat something some crazed stalker buys you, Shawn!"

Shawn stared sadly down at the ice cream. "I was there when he purchased it and he didn't have any opportunity to tamper with it," Shawn said, sounding unfailingly reasonable. "He's actually a really nice guy for a stalker. He promised not to get within thirty feet of me and I didn't even need to get one of those restraining order things."

Gus stared at him, wondering if he should be comforted or terrified that even after all of their years of friendship, Shawn could still occasionally catch him completely by surprise with the crazy stuff that came out of his mouth. "And you just believe him?"

"We shook on it and he gave me his word of honor."

"Shawn! This is serious!"

"Gus, you're looking at this all wrong. In our case a stalker might actually be a good thing. It means we're getting noticed--it's like a status symbol, all the cool kids have one." Shawn paused for a moment, and then shook his head. "Then again, I heard even Pamela Anderson had a stalker recently. Maybe in her Baywatch days, maybe--and I stress the maybe here--even VIP, I could have understood, but she's just not that classy anymore."

Gus stopped walking and glared at him. "Shawn, that was Borat."

Shawn raised an eyebrow. "You have the name of Pamela Anderson's stalker on the tip of your tongue? Honestly, Gus, sometimes I worry about you."

"It was a movie! You know what? Never mind, I'm not letting you distract me. We're calling the police." Gus pulled his cell phone out and started pounding at the numbers, but Shawn easily pulled it from his hands.

"You're completely overreacting," Shawn said. "Even if I thought for a second he was dangerous, which obviously he's not, I mean, he bought me ice cream. But even if, I absolutely refuse to be intimidated by someone named Ingles. Purely on principle."

Gus cast another wary glance behind them and then grabbed Shawn's arm to pull him back towards the car.

xxxxxx

Gus stood opened mouthed in the doorway of the Psych agency while Shawn fretted quietly beside him. "Don't freak out," Shawn said.

"Shawn," Gus said.

"It's probably not even as bad as it looks," Shawn said.

"Shawn!"

"At least it doesn't look like anything is missing, or how else could they have covered the floor so completely with our stuff?"

"Shawn!"

Shawn moved past Gus into the agency. Everything had been pulled off the shelves, the drawers were all hanging open. Paper littered the floor around Gus's desk. Bouncy balls and a neon orange slinky littered the floor around Shawn's.

"I'm calling the police," Gus said. "Your crazy stalker did this, Shawn."

Shawn walked over to his desk, carefully avoiding a Pineapple that had been carelessly thrown to floor. "Heathens!" Shawn muttered, reaching down to pick it up. "No, don't do that. I'm going to call Ingles and get to the bottom of this right now," Shawn said.

Gus pushed his hand down and disconnected the phone before Shawn could dial. "You are not calling your stalker, Shawn. How do you even have his number?"

"He wanted me to have it in case of emergencies just such as this," Shawn said. Then he shook his head. "Look, you know I'm good at reading people. Ingles is harmless. I can tell. If I thought otherwise for even a second I would have reported him myself."

Gus glanced back out the window, and saw the stalker, who was now hiding around the corner of a building, only his little beady eyes and receding hairline left visible. "How did he get here so fast?" Gus asked uneasily. "He's like a super stalker."

"Apparently, I am not the first," Shawn told him. "Ingles is very experienced in his line of work. He told me that he stalked Phil Collins for like twelve years. That's dedication. He even invited me over to look at his stalker pictures sometime."

"You're not going," Gus snapped.

Shawn rolled his eyes, and leaned back in his chair to put his feet up on the ransacked desk. "Of course I'm not, Gus," he said. "I told him that we'd have to meet somewhere public. I'm not an idiot."

"You are an idiot," Gus snapped. "This is ridiculous, and it's gone too far. I'm calling your father."

Shawn laughed. "You're calling my father? You haven't used that threat since the fifth grade."

Gus wasn't laughing. He tilted his head up in the smug way he had, and held out his cell phone, before he started dialing. Shawn dropped his feet to the ground and sat up, eyes going wide. "I know you're not really calling my father," he said.

Gus ignored him, and lifted the cell phone to his ear as it started to ring. Shawn leapt over his desk and barreled into him, wrestling the phone out of his hands just as his father said, "Gus?"

"Ha!" Shawn said, neatly stepping out of Gus's reach. "Well, I certainly didn't get my psychic powers from you."

"It says Gus on the caller ID, Shawn," Henry snapped. "Don't tell me you destroyed another cell phone."

"Nope," Shawn said. "The battery just died."

"Well, what is it?" Henry asked, as Shawn darted around the desk to get away from Gus.

"Shawn!" Gus shouted. "Give me that phone back!"

"Gus is worried about his minutes," Shawn said. "Sorry, Dad, I'll have to call you back."

Shawn hung up the phone and threw it to the other side of the room. Gus froze and then slowly turned to watch as it landed, thankfully, in one piece. "I know you didn't just throw my cell phone."

"You called my father," Shawn said. "That's against all the rules."

Gus walked stiffly to retrieve his cell phone, and then turned and pointed at Shawn. "Okay, here's the deal," he said. "You're going to clean this office."

Shawn nodded eagerly. "Of course!"

"And you're going to call your friend the stalker and tell him he's just been demoted to a distance of a hundred feet. I see this guy again and I will call the police, Shawn."

"It'll be fine, he's harmless," Shawn said again.

Gus looked back out the window at Ingles, and then his watch. "I have to be up early tomorrow, but I don't like leaving you alone here."

"Go home. I'll lock the doors," Shawn promised.

Gus seemed to falter. "Okay, but I want you to call me when you get home."

"Will do, mom," Shawn said, and then obediently locked the door behind Gus as he drove off in his little blue car, before waving to Ingles as he settled down in the parking lot with his binoculars and a sandwich.

xxxxxx

"Jules!"

Juliet sighed, dropping her unfinished report on her desk as she juggled with the phone. "Shawn," she said warily. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I've been thinking, about that employee at Alice Clothing," Shawn said.

"I'm not working that case, Shawn," Juliet said. "We passed it off to the gang squad."

"Yes, but I'm not talking about the vandalism case," Shawn said. "I'm talking about the missing persons case."

Juliet frowned. "What missing persons case?"

"Amber," Shawn said, as though it was obvious. "She's missing."

"She's not missing, Shawn," Juliet said. "She ran off with another man."

"Says the husband," Shawn said. "And what husband would admit to that if it were really true? The spirits tell me he's hiding something."

Juliet sighed, as Carlton paused a few feet away and narrowed his eyes in her direction, suspecting who it was on the other end of the line. "Well, the spirits are telling me that you should drop this," Juliet said.

"By spirits I'm guessing you mean Lassiter?" Shawn asked.

Juliet paused. Sometimes, she didn't think she really believed in psychics, but at others, she couldn't think how else Shawn knew the things he knew. "Goodbye, Shawn," she said, hanging up the phone before Lassiter could reach her.

"Who was that?" he asked.

"Oh, it was just my mother," Juliet said, smiling widely.

"Well, I hope you told 'your mother' to drop this case," Lassiter said as he walked away.

And sometimes Juliet just felt like she was surrounded by psychics, which could be damned annoying.


	2. PS Please Don't Make Me Kill You

Part Two: P.S. Please Don't Make Me Kill You

Shawn was driving home on his motorcycle, when his spidey sense kicked in and he realized he was being followed. At first, he didn't think much of it. He figured this was going to become something of a constant anyway now that he had his very own stalker, but the prickling feeling didn't go away, and he glanced behind him.

It was too dark to make out the car, but he was having flashbacks to the incident with the Spelling Bee, and things were not looking good. The car was speeding up like it planned to go right through him.

Shawn quickly turned his bike off the road, and his last thought as went tumbling off and onto the pavement was, _not again._

xxxxxxxx

In light of his unfortunate accident, Shawn didn't actually make it home until 4:30 in the morning. The hospital had wanted him to stay overnight, but Shawn had been through the wringer worse than this. His left wrist was itching where it had been forced into a cast and he was sporting a pretty spectacular bruise on his right temple, but at least this time he could still walk without limping.

Shawn grabbed the house phone as he walked through his apartment and collapsed on his couch. He would have called Gus hours ago claiming to be home, but everyone had that stupid caller ID nowadays.

"Shawn!" Gus shouted. "Where have you been? I hope you realize that I was five minutes from calling the police. I went back to the office to find you, and firstly, you put everything back in the wrong place. I thought you were supposed to have a photographic memory?"

"I wanted to see what it all looked like on opposite sides of the room," Shawn said defensively.

"Don't change the subject, Shawn!" Gus said.

"You changed the subject," Shawn said. "I'm just trying to keep up."

"Just tell me where you've been," Gus said. "I've been calling your cell phone for like four hours."

Shawn pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "Huh," he said. "Would you believe my battery really is dead?"

"Sadly yes," Gus said, finally seeming to calm down. "I haven't slept at all, you know. I feel like I'm the one being stalked."

Shawn grinned. "You're feeling left out! That's so sweet," he said. "But, Gus, don't worry. I'm sure you'll get one too. We could hire someone to follow you around if you'd like."

"Not what I meant, Shawn, I don't want a stalker! It bothers me that you actually seem to enjoy it," he said.

"It's good for publicity," Shawn said.

"If it was for publicity, we'd be calling the police," Gus snapped. "It isn't publicity if you won't tell anyone."

"That's semantics and you know it! Anyway, I don't want to get Ingles into trouble. He's a really nice guy under all that stalker tendency. Do you know that he knits? He promised to make me a pineapple cozy."

"I'm hanging up now," Gus said. "I need to get some sleep. You lock your doors, or I swear to God, Shawn--"

"Consider it done," Shawn said, and hung up the phone as he turned to look at his door. He'd left the deadbolt undone, and it really didn't seem worth it to walk all the way back over there.

Still, some things had been ingrained in him by Henry too deeply for even Shawn to erase, so he got up and locked the door, just in case.

xxxxxxxx

Shawn woke up aching, and took six aspirin before dragging himself to the shower. He knew that Gus wasn't anywhere near as observant as him, but Shawn was still pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to hide the cast or the bruises from him.

Still, that didn't mean Shawn wouldn't try. He put on a heavy jacket and then pulled a beanie cap low over his eyes, covering everything but the outermost edges of the bruise. It probably would have been a better disguise if it wasn't the middle of August, but it was the best Shawn could come up with on short notice.

Shawn really wanted to go borrow his father's truck to pick his bike off the side of the road, but he knew better than to let his father see him in this condition. Gus might get fooled, maybe, but his father would know the instant he saw him what had really happened and Shawn was pretty sure this time Henry would just take a hammer to his poor innocent motorcycle and be done with it.

None of them seemed to understand it wasn't the motorcycle that was to blame. It was the psychos that kept trying to run him off the road.

So Shawn took a cab to the Psych office instead, and called a tow company to pick his bike up on the way and drop it back off at his apartment.

When he entered the office, the first thing he noticed was that Gus had put everything back where it belonged. The second thing he noticed was Gus, who was standing by his desk, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "Are you cold?" he asked.

Shawn nodded. "It's like a blizzard out there, you didn't notice?"

Gus looked out the window at the clear, sunny skies, and his eyes narrowed even further. "Shawn," he said. "Quit playing. What's with the winter-wear?"

"I have very bad blood circulation, Gus, you know that," Shawn told him.

Gus stepped forward, before reaching over to pull the hat off his head. He blinked wide horrified eyes at the bruise. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I walked into a door?" Shawn said.

"Shawn!" Gus snapped, grabbing Shawn's arm as he started to turn away.

Shawn let out an involuntary yelp and pulled his arm away, but not quite quick enough that Gus didn't see the cast. Gus went stony, the way he'd gotten only a few times in their relationship, and Shawn knew it meant he wasn't going to back down. He took a deep breath. "I ran my bike off the road again," he admitted, then after a moment, his pride in his own finesse with his bike forced him to add, "Okay, technically, I was run off the road again."

"How could you not tell me this, Shawn?" Gus shouted.

"Firstly, I just did tell you, secondly, I didn't want to tell you because you would think Ingles did it, and I don't think he did," Shawn said, tearing his jacket off since he was getting so hot he could barely breathe. "I think this has to do with Amber."

"Who?" Gus asked.

"The missing person case we're working on," Shawn explained.

"What missing person case?" Gus asked. "We're not working any cases."

"Yes we are," Shawn said. "It's just that no one seems to realize it but me."

"Shawn," Gus said.

"I can't figure this one out," Shawn said, sounding frustrated. "I think it must be all the distractions, because I'm usually quicker than this. But I'll tell you one thing, that break-in at Alice Clothing wasn't a break-in, and it wasn't gang related."

"That's nice, Shawn, but this is all completely besides the point," Gus snapped. He slammed a letter down on Shawn's desk and pointed to it. "This lovely piece of fan mail is from your buddy Ingles."

"You opened my mail?" Shawn asked, incredulous. "What happened to all that, it's a federal offense stuff?"

"It's addressed to the Agency, Shawn," Gus snapped. "I have as much right to read it as you. We should just be grateful that he doesn't seem to know your home address."

Shawn winced. "He does, actually. He moved in across the street two days ago."

"Shawn!"

Shawn dropped down into his desk chair and picked up the letter. "If you keep shouting my name like that, you're going to wear it out." He glanced over the letter. It was admittedly pretty crazy as far as fan mail went.

Dearest Shawn,

I've been watching you for a while now, and you can't keep doing this, pretending like I'm not here and we're not meant to be together. If you don't start noticing me, I'm going to make you wish you had. You need to realize that we belong to each other, that you belong to me. I've had enough of these games.

Yours Truly,  
Your stalker, Ingles.

P.S. Please don't make me kill you.  
P.P.S. You look very nice today.

Shawn frowned at it. "Well, this is obviously a joke," he said.

"That is not a joke, Shawn, that is a death threat," Gus snapped.

"He put a little smiley face beside his name, this is hardly the work of a criminal mastermind," Shawn said.

"Are you ready to bring the police in on this or not?" Gus demanded.

"Look, just give me a chance to figure this out first," Shawn said. "I know there's something else going on here, with all of this, and if I can just--"

"No, Shawn. Your accident--" Gus started.

"That has nothing to do with this!" Shawn interrupted. "I'm like . . . 97 sure about that."

"Maybe I would have agreed, but this letter changes everything, Shawn. This is a seriously disturbed individual."

"Gus, I'll figure this out," Shawn said, he started to crumple the letter up to throw away, but Gus grabbed it out of his hands.

"This is evidence, Shawn," he snapped, before turning around and heading towards the doors. "You let me know when you want to be reasonable."

"Gus!" Shawn called after him. "Gus, come on! It's kind of funny, don't you think?"

The door was already slamming and Shawn sighed and slunk lower in his chair. He watched Gus speed away in his little blue car, and then he saw Ingles standing on the corner, hiding behind a newspaper. Shawn reached for his phone, and dialed Ingles' phone number.

"Hello?" Ingles said.

"Hey, Ingles, it's Shawn," he said.

"Shawn!" Ingles said happily. "I was just thinking about you."

"Well, you are standing right outside my office," Shawn said.

"I'm not," Ingles said.

"Ingles, I can see you through the window," Shawn said.

"That's not me," Ingles said. "That's probably just some guy that looks like me."

Shawn watched the guy that looked like Ingles adjust his cell phone as he accidentally dropped the newspaper. "Okay, Ingles," he said. "It's not you. And I suppose that little love note wasn't from you, either?"

"Love note?" Ingles said. "That's a little sudden, don't you think, Shawn? I was following Phil Collins around for seven years before I started sending him love notes."

"Right," Shawn said, "Okay, Ingles, thanks."

"Are we still on for lunch on Friday?" Ingles asked.

"Yeah, but it's got to be public," Shawn said. "Gus worries. He made me promise."

"I hate that Gus guy," Ingles said. "He's always giving me dirty looks when he sees me lurking around."

"Just stay away from Gus, okay?" Shawn said, a little coldly.

"Sure, sure," Ingles said. "He's not that interesting to watch, anyway."

Shawn set the phone back down and then tapped impatiently on his desk. There were way too many distractions, and Juliet still hadn't called him back about Amber. He'd been sure she would have checked up on it for him, even though she had said she wouldn't. Shawn grabbed the phone again and dialed the SBPD.

"Hello?" Juliet said.

"You know, it's much harder to contact the spirits without a last name," Shawn said without preamble, bringing his uninjured hand to his head in true psychic fashion, even though there was no one there to see it. "Jules, I really thought you would have checked this out for me by now."

"Her name is Amber Delaney, she kept her maiden name, and her husband is a US Marine, Mark Anders. I _did_ check it out," Juliet said.

"You did?" Shawn asked.

"Of course," Juliet said. "I've learned better than to ignore one of your hunches, but, Shawn, the husband was out of the country on a tour in Iraq, and he came back the day after Amber disappeared. So if it is a missing persons case, which I'm not sure it is, then he has nothing to do with it."

Shawn frowned. "Actually, I think this has everything to do with it, but you're right, yes, the spirits are much clearer now, it's not the husband, I misunderstood them."

"Shawn, what are you talking about?" Juliet said.

"It's not the husband we should be looking into," he said again. "It's the boyfriend."

"The boyfriend," Juliet repeated. "The one she ran off with?"

Shawn shook his head, even though she couldn't see it. "No, Jules. I'm really starting to worry that Amber hasn't gone anywhere."

"Shawn, I have to go, the Chief--" Shawn listened closely as he heard the phone muffled to keep him from listening, and could just make out, "yes, it's Shawn--but--he _what_?" Shawn heard Juliet un-muffle the phone and then take a deep breath. "Shawn," she said, far too sweetly, "the Chief would like you to come down to the station."

Shawn's eyes lit up. "She's making this my case?"

"You'll really have to take it up with her," Juliet said.

"I'll be right there," Shawn said, and he was already halfway out the door.

xxxxxxx

Shawn entered the police station with his usual stagger, but his step faltered slightly as he caught sight of Juliet watching him anxiously from her desk. As he slowly turned to look at Vick's office, he saw Gus sitting in one of the chairs, resolutely looking straight ahead, and Shawn neatly turned on his heel to head straight back out again.

Someone caught him by the arm and pulled him back around. "Going somewhere, Spencer?" Lassiter asked.

Shawn gave him his best grin. "Yes, actually, I was--"

"Just going to see the Chief?" Lassiter asked. "Good. Because they're waiting for you."

Lassiter shoved Shawn neatly into the Chief's office, and then closed the door behind him. Shawn dropped down into the other empty chair and glared at Gus.

"You told on me?" He caught sight of the glaring presence of his father, standing with his arms crossed in the corner. "You called my dad? Gus--"

"I called Henry," Vick interrupted.

"Are you even allowed to do that?" Shawn asked. Vick gave him a glare, and he quickly backtracked. "I mean, of course you are. You're the Chief."

Vick shook her head in exasperation. "Mr. Guster has told us that your offices were broken into, and someone tried to run you off the road, and that you have recently acquired a stalker that's sending you threatening notes," she said. "Naturally I had a hard time believing this, since I had thought you would certainly have come forward if that were the case."

Shawn rubbed at his cast, which was suddenly itching like crazy. "I think Gus may have given you the wrong impression."

"Shawn!" Gus snapped. "I did not--"

"How so?" Vick demanded.

"Well, you make it sound like this is all related! But really, I believe it's more a series of unfortunate events," Shawn explained. "Everything's totally under control."

"Mr. Spencer," Vick said, giving him that smile that meant she was nearing the end of her rope. "Let me make myself clear. You either stay with your father until this matter is resolved or I will have you put into protective custody."

"What, like on TV? Would I get to stay in a fancy hotel and order room service and--"

Vick narrowed her eyes.

Shawn smoothly switched tracks without missing a beat. "I'll go with my Dad. Maybe we can even have one of those screaming matches like we always used to. It'll be just like old times."

Vick nodded in approval. "I'm glad to hear it. Please wait outside with Detective O'Hara for a moment. I'd like to have a word with Mr. Guster and your father."

"But I--"

"That'll be all, Mr. Spencer," Vick said coolly.

Shawn pushed out of the chair with his good arm, and his father's eyes narrowed as they saw the cast. He opened his mouth to say something, but Vick held up a hand and Henry shut his mouth again.

Sometimes Shawn worried that maybe Chief Vick was a Jedi.

Juliet was waiting for him at the door, with Lassiter not far behind, like they were afraid he was going to make a run for it or something. Shawn just sighed, because that totally thwarted his plans to make a run for it.

Juliet ushered him to her desk and pushed him down into her chair, before perching on the edge and pushing a bunch of pamphlets at him. "I mean, you study this kind of thing, you know that it happens," she was saying. "You just don't ever expect it to happen to you, or someone you know."

Shawn flipped through a few of the pamphlets. They had titles like _Why the Rape Whistle Is Your Friend_ and _Always Leave A Light On_. "Jules, you guys are all getting worked up over nothing," he said. "Ingles is harmless. He's like the Disney Channel of stalkers."

"This is no laughing matter, Spencer," Lassiter said roughly.

"But you say that about everything!" Shawn protested.

Lassiter just crossed his arms and tried to look imposing. Shawn was actually a little impressed, because he seemed almost good at it, and if Shawn didn't know Lassiter as well as he did, he might have even been slightly intimidated. "Stalkers often start out innocent enough, but then they escalate, and before you know it you're dead."

"I can always count on you to find a silver lining, Lassy," Shawn said.

"No, Shawn, he's right," Juliet told him, taking his right hand and forcing his attention back on her. "I want you to be careful."

Shawn looked up as Gus came quickly out of the office, making a beeline for the door and not meeting Shawn's eyes. Shawn got up to follow him. "Hey, Gus! What, you're running away from me now? Gus?"

Henry caught Shawn's arm to stop him from following Gus out the door. "Hold on there," he said.

Shawn looked down at where his father was gripping him. "You know, for all this talk about my dangerous stalker, it seems to be all the 'good guys' that like to manhandle me. You and Lassiter should join a support group or something."

"I'm not in the mood, Shawn," Henry snapped. "Come on. We're leaving."

Shawn took a deep breath, and then forced himself to do as his father said. "Shawn, wait, you forgot your pamphlets!" Juliet ran up to him, and pushed the dreaded pamphlets back at him. Shawn took them reluctantly.

"Thanks, Jules," he said.

"It's never weakness to ask for help," Juliet told him. "We're all here for you, whatever you need." Her eyes were wide and solemn and focused on the bruise at Shawn's temple, like he was a battered wife.

He nodded gravely, playing along. "I'll keep that in mind," he said.

"Now, Shawn!" Henry shouted from the doors.

"I'm coming!" Shawn said petulantly, spinning on his heel to wave goodbye to Juliet as he started backwards towards the doors. "See you around, Jules."

His father didn't say anything as they walked across the packing lot, and he didn't say anything as they both climbed into the truck. He just sat there for a moment, staring at the keys in his hands, and then he let out a snort. "Only you, kid," he said.

"You know that Gus is a total drama queen," Shawn said. "It's not nearly as serious as I'm sure he made it sound."

"He showed us the letter," Henry said. "And you got into another accident with that damn bike. I'll buy you a car, Shawn, okay? Just get rid of that bike."

"I love that bike," Shawn said. "And if you bought me a car you'd be over every other day to check on it, the mileage, the upholstery, the finish. It would drive us both mad and you know it."

Henry started the car and pulled out of the lot. "What if I promised I wouldn't?" Henry asked.

"You'd still do it," Shawn said. "You wouldn't be able to help yourself."

"If I still had hair, you'd be turning it grey," Henry said. "And put your damn seatbelt on."

Shawn grabbed his seatbelt, and put it on with unnecessary flourish. "So you're not really going along with this, right? Because I'll be fine if you just drop me off at my place."

"Not gonna happen," Henry said.

"It's the middle of the day!" Shawn protested. "I have things to do, places to be."

"Sorry, kid, you're grounded," Henry said.

"You can't ground me anymore," Shawn said. "I'm almost positive about that."

"I can when I have the police Chief on my side," he said. "If you'd prefer, I can drive you right back there and you can go into protective custody. And I'll tell you right now, it's not going to be one of those fancy hotels you were talking about seeing on TV. You'd be lucky to wind up in a Motel Six."

"Okay, fine," Shawn said. "But I want to go on record as being entirely opposed to this whole thing."

Henry went quiet again, and Shawn moved uneasily in his seat. It was never a good sign when Henry Spencer was trying to hold his tongue, because he never managed it for it long. "Okay, Shawn, what the hell?" he shouted suddenly.

Shawn straightened in his seat. "What?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't you come to me with this?" Henry demanded.

"Because you would have overreacted, kind of like you're doing now," Shawn said lamely.

"No I wouldn't have," Henry said. "I would have handled him like that deviant stalker you had in high school."

"Dad, Anna Breece was fourteen-years-old. She followed me home _once_ and tried to look through our windows with her Barbie binoculars. You yelled at her until her crying was so high-pitched she started to attract the neighborhood dogs."

"That's how criminal behavior starts, Shawn. I did that as much for her as for you. I bet she's grown up fine."

"I saw her last month," he said. "She's still in therapy."

"You're making that up," Henry said.

"No, she actually is," Shawn said. "But I'm sure it's not entirely your fault."

"God damn it, Shawn," Henry said. "Can please just have a serious discussion for once? How could you not tell me about this?"

"I didn't tell you about the accident because you hate my bike enough already," Shawn said. "I didn't tell you about Ingles because I honestly don't believe he's a threat."

"And the break-in?" Henry demanded.

"Nothing was taken," Shawn said. "I'm not even sure if there's a law about going into someone's office and rearranging their stuff, but it didn't seem like that big of a deal."

"Nothing ever does to you," Henry said, as he pulled to a stop in front of the house.

"After everything you've taught me," Shawn said, "you don't trust me to know whether or not I'm in danger?"

"Kid," Henry said tiredly, "that's the one thing I don't trust you to know."


	3. The Shrineing

Part Three: The Shrine-ing

The absolute worst part of all this was that Shawn really did feel like he'd been grounded. His father had ushered him into the living room, and immediately proceeded to lecture him, and the flashbacks he was having to his childhood were getting depressingly hard to ignore.

Henry pointed at the couch. "Sit," he said.

His father had always believed in the canine school approach to parenting, and Shawn crossed his arms instead of doing as he'd been told. "Dad--"

"Shawn, sit," Henry snapped.

Shawn dropped down onto the couch, lazily enough that he was clearly trying to make it look like it had been his idea.

"Alright," he said. "Here are the ground rules. You don't go anywhere alone until we catch this guy, and no, Gus doesn't count as not being alone. If you don't want me going everywhere with you, then we can call Vick to send an escort."

"I didn't realize the police station offered an escort service," Shawn said, petulant in the way he always got around his father.

"This is serious, Shawn," Henry said. "I know you like to think you're indestructible, but you're not."

"Maybe not indestructible," Shawn said, "but I'm still pretty sure I could take on my five foot two stalker."

"And what if he had a gun?" Henry asked.

"Considering that he's a member of the CSGV," Shawn said, "that doesn't seem likely."

"Of course he's a member of the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence--Shawn, how do you even know that?" Henry snapped.

"He wears a button," Shawn said. "He's very passionate about it."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Henry snapped. "I don't even know why I bother to try and talk sense to you."

"It's not my fault that my stalker doesn't like guns," Shawn said reasonably. "I just can't ever win with you, can I? I promise, Dad, my next stalker will be a proud rifle-toting member of the NRA."

Henry scrubbed his hands over his head, and Shawn was pretty sure that if he still had hair, he'd be pulling it out. "Okay, Shawn, whatever. Just don't leave this house."

Henry grabbed the Sudoku book that Shawn had given him on his last birthday (along with a note that had read, _I hear that Sudoku is good for old people, hopefully it's not too late for you_). Shawn watched as Henry settled down for the long haul, between him and the door, and started working the puzzle.

Shawn leaned back, and he could just make out the puzzle reflected in the mirror behind his father's head. "You're going to want to put a three there, not a six," he told him.

"I've got it, Shawn," Henry snapped, and wrote a six. Five minutes later, he was erasing it and changing it to a three, along with the warning, "Not a word."

"Seven," Shawn said, as his father moved to the next square. "You want a seven there. Haven't you ever done one of these puzzles before?"

"Cut it out, Shawn," Henry snapped. "It just so happens that I've almost finished this book."

Shawn slunk deeper into the couch, tapping his foot. "This is painful to watch," he said.

"Okay, that's it," Henry snapped. "Go to your room."

Shawn raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Shawn," he said. "If you want to act like a little kid, I might as well treat you like one."

Shawn sat up indignantly. "You can't send me to my room! I don't even live here anymore."

Henry looked up from the puzzle with a glare, and Shawn resentfully got to his feet. "I'm going to my room," he announced. "But I'm going because I want to."

"Sure," Henry said, and went back to his puzzle.

Shawn took the walk of shame up the staircase, an all too familiar occurrence in his youth, and then fell face forward onto his bed and hid his head under his pillow. Thinking back, he wasn't quite sure how things could have gotten so out of hand.

And then he remembered. Oh, right. Gus.

Shawn sat up and took out his cell phone, hitting his Gus speed-dial. "Do you have any idea the number of offenses you have committed? Have you even read the Code of Friendship?" Shawn asked, instead of saying something like hello.

"Shawn," Gus answered warily. "Are you at your father's?"

"Of course I'm at my father's! I'm under house arrest! What the hell, Gus?" Shawn said. "I said I had everything under control."

"You always say that," Gus said.

"And I'm always right!" Shawn said. "Where's the faith, man?"

"Shawn, you're my best friend, and you're occasionally kind of brilliant, but when it comes to being careful, well, you suck at it." Shawn could hear Gus take a deep breath. "I did this for your own good."

Shawn frowned, because with Gus being all sincere and caring, it was really hard to blame this all on him. "But how am I suppose to work on our case if I can't leave the house?" Shawn asked.

"There is no case, Shawn," Gus said. "Just consider it a vacation."

"A vacation," Shawn said. "With my father."

"Okay, you have a point," Gus said. "Think of it as a Time Out then."

"What is it with everyone treating me like I'm five years old all the sudden?" Shawn asked.

"I always treat you like you're five years old," Gus said. "It's the founding basis of our relationship."

Shawn thought about that. "Yeah, okay, you have a point," he admitted. "So, what do you say? You'll be here in five minutes to get me?"

Gus laughed, waiting for Shawn to laugh too, and pausing when he didn't. "You're not serious," he said.

"I don't have any of my stuff here," Shawn complained, looking around his room. "I have an Ace of Base shirt that I totally don't want anyone to know about, and the Furby that keeps eyeing me from the other side of the room. I need my clothes, if I'm going to stay here."

"Have your Dad take you," Gus said. "I've already been told that I don't count as your protector. I guess I have a history of running in the face of danger or something like that."

"Come on, you know I don't like to take my Dad to my place," Shawn said. "Anyway, you totally ratted me out, Gus, so you owe me! I'll square it with my Dad, okay?"

There was a pause as Gus thought about it. "Okay, but you're going to tell him right? I mean, really?"

"Of course," Shawn said, and ended the call. He went back into the hall and started down the stairs, using the balls of his feet the way his father had taught him, and skipping the third step from the top, the one that always used to creak and give him away.

He froze as he heard his father snoring, and with a grin he stepped carefully back up the stairs and into his room.

Gus pulled up seven minutes later, and Shawn pulled his window open and slid down the shingled roof, before dropping off the edge. His broken wrist ached as he landed, but he ignored it with nothing more than a slight wince, and then ran to the street to jump in Gus's car.

Gus was just sitting there, jaw set, staring straight ahead. "And your dad is okay with this?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Shawn said.

"Then why did you just climb out the window, Shawn?" Gus shouted.

"It was quicker?" Shawn tried. "Okay, so I snuck out during his afternoon nap. Don't worry so much, we'll be back before he even knows I'm gone."

The door swung wide open, and Henry came storming out. "Shawn!"

"Drive!" Shawn said urgently. "For the love of god, man, drive!"

Gus took one look at Henry's furious face and hit the gas.

xxxxxxxx

"Your father is going to kill us, Shawn," Gus snapped.

"When I solve this case, no one is even going to remember this whole stalking thing!" Shawn said.

"The case is your crazy stalker!" Gus yelled.

"What if that's just what we're supposed to think?" Shawn asked.

Gus pulled to a stop in front of Shawn's apartment building, and there was one patrol car, and one unmarked Crown Victoria parked in front of the complex on the other side.

"Did you know this would be going on?" Gus demanded.

"Now, Gus, how would I have known?" Shawn asked. "You know I'm not really psychic." Shawn waited until Gus seemed to believe him, before adding, "and it's not like I would have expected the police to show up at the residence of the man they were searching for or anything."

Shawn jumped out of the car, heading across the street to Ingles' apartment without waiting for Gus to try and talk him out of it.

Gus quickly moved to follow him. "Shawn!" Gus shouted. "Shawn!"

Gus caught up to him at the door, and Shawn turned to him with a mock glare. "Quiet," he said primly. "The police are currently in the middle of an investigation. Have some respect."

Buzz was standing in the entryway examining a fingernail when they entered, and Shawn and Gus quickly pressed themselves up against the wall, hoping to go unnoticed.

"McNab!" They heard Lassiter shout, and then they breathed a sign of relief and followed Buzz quietly into the other room.

"Oh my god," Gus said faintly.

The entire room was pasted over, wall-to-wall, with pictures of Shawn, outside the police station or in front of the Psych office, as well as a few leftover pictures of Phil Collins. Ingles had even somehow gotten his hands on a poster of Shawn, the result of an ad campaign he had been a part of once in Mexico, for a slightly popular drink called Jalisco Verde!! The poster showed Shawn grinning widely, holding out the drink, with the caption _Muy bueno! Esta Muy Grande!_

Shawn frowned as he scanned the pictures, and then moved his eyes to the desk. Shawn's eyes narrowed as he saw the Magic 8 Ball on the desk, which had a chip right near the bottom, and he knew it was his. He hadn't thought much of it when he realized it was missing, because Gus had threatened to take it from him when Shawn had proposed to use it to solve their next case.

Lassiter was still staring at the pictures with wide horrified eyes, and he hadn't seen them come in. "This is like something out of one of my nightmares," he said.

Shawn shook himself back to the moment, and stepped forward with a grin. "You dream about me?" He put his hand to his heart. "Lassie, I'm touched."

"Spencer, what the hell are you doing here?" Lassiter demanded. Without waiting for an answer, Lassiter moved forward and grabbed Shawn by the arm again. "McNab, with me!" he shouted as he started dragging him to the door. Gus followed without being called.

Lassiter sat Shawn in the passenger seat of his Crown Vic, and then handcuffed his uninjured wrist to the car door. Shawn just watched him do it, amused.

"Come on, Lassie! I knew how to get out of standard issue cuffs by the time I was six. This is almost insulting."

"You know," Gus said. "If you weren't such a slacker, you'd be kind of scary."

"Oh, Gus, you flatter me," he said.

Lassiter just rolled his eyes. "I have to finish here, you're going to wait for me. Buzz, don't take your eyes off him."

Buzz nodded, his eyes wide at the responsibility, and then just stood there absolutely still, staring straight at Shawn.

"That guy takes his job way too seriously," Shawn said. His only good arm was now attached to the car door, which was going to make getting out of the cuffs problematic, despite his bravado.

Gus had climbed into the backseat, and was glaring at him in an entirely useless manner. "Did you see what was on his desk?" Gus asked. "That's from our office, Shawn."

"I know, I know, so maybe he broke in," Shawn admitted. "But he didn't try to run me over and he didn't write that letter." Shawn carefully reached into his pocket, with the tips of the fingers sticking out of his cast, and pulled out a stainless steel swizzle stick, that quite luckily he had forgotten to take out of his pocket.

"Did you even read those pamphlets Juliet gave you?" Gus asked. "This is textbook, Shawn."

Shawn frowned in thought. He had glanced over the pamphlets, and Gus was right. This was textbook.

And Ingles Dupree was anything but.

"Shawn, what are you doing?" Gus asked, leaning forward.

"Getting out of these cuffs," Shawn said. "You know how easily I chafe."

"Shawn, no," Gus said, leaping forward and prying the swizzle stick from his hands. "Hey! This is my swizzle stick! Do you know how much this cost me on eBay?"

"I took it for your own good!" Shawn said. "You would have started collecting them!"

Gus stuck the swizzle stick in his front pocket, and prepared to get out of the car. "You're staying here, Shawn, it serves you right," Gus said.

"You can't leave me like this!" Shawn protested.

"Watch me," Gus said, and got out of the car, waving jauntily to Buzz as he walked by.

Buzz, for his part, kept his eyes on Shawn. Shawn was pretty sure that he hadn't blinked in the last five minutes.

Shawn slouched back in the seat, dangerously close to pouting, when suddenly he caught sight of something and grinned widely instead.

It took ten more minutes for Lassiter to come back out, and Buzz still hadn't blinked. Shawn made a mental not to ever challenge him to a staring contest.

Lassiter didn't look to be in the best of moods, so Shawn was pretty sure that annoying him would be even easier than usual.

He waited until Lassiter had settled himself into the driver's seat, before holding out the unlatched cuffs. Lassiter just stared at them for a moment. "How did you--"

"You keep the key to your handcuffs in the glove box," Shawn explained.

Lassiter deflated, and grabbed the cuffs back. "Damn it," he said.

"I suppose you're taking me back to my Dad's," Shawn said.

Lassiter shook his head. "The Chief wants you back at the station. Henry already called her."

Shawn winced, then took a breath and changed the subject. "Hey, where's Jules?"

Lassiter started up the car. "She's interviewing Dupree's psychiatrist back at the station," Lassiter told him. He put the car into drive, and then nearly ran right into Buzz. Lassiter slammed on the brakes. "Oh for--I got it, Buzz, you can stop watching him now!"

Buzz gave him a thumbs-up, and blinked gratefully as he stepped out of the way. Shawn hid a grin behind his cast, but wisely said very little during their drive.

xxxxxx

Lassiter pulled Shawn into the station like he was hauling in a criminal, but Shawn's never been bothered by stuff like that, so he just waved happily to everyone he saw. Juliet was at her desk, with a man across from her. He was nice-looking, Shawn guessed, in that bland unnoticeable kind of way, with square framed glasses and a sweater vest. Shawn would have guessed it was the psychiatrist even if he hadn't known going in.

"Hi, Jules!" he shouted. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Lassiter jerked him inside Vick's office.

She was standing, which was never a good sign, but she also looked faintly amused, in that particular exasperated way that he seemed to inspire in her.

"Mr. Spencer," she said. "I'm having you put in protective custody."

"I thought I just had to stay with my Dad?" Shawn protested.

"Which you seem to be incapable of," Vick said. "And in any case, what we found at Dupree's apartment changes things. I don't want you left alone until we find him, which is why I'm assigning Detective Lassiter to look after you."

"Wait, what?" Lassiter protested. "Chief, you can't be serious. I need to be out there, bringing this guy in. O'Hara can--"

"O'Hara is an excellent detective," Vick said. "However, she is somewhat susceptible to Mr. Spencer's skills at manipulation, and I need someone watching him that isn't going to give in to any of his schemes."

"Schemes?" Shawn protested. "I don't have 'schemes.' When I grow a little twirly mustache, then you can accuse me of schemes--"

"Spencer, shut up," Lassiter interrupted. "I want this guy, Chief."

"And O'Hara will get him," Vick said. "You're going to take Spencer to his father's house and you are going to keep him there. End of discussion."

"Anyone could watch Spencer," Lassiter said. "Buzz did it earlier for nearly fifteen minutes, I don't see why--"

"Lassiter," Vick interrupted tiredly, and nodded her head to where Shawn had been a moment ago.

Lassiter spun around, only to see that Shawn had already made his way across the station to Juliet's desk.

Shawn had, in fact, left the Chief's office the very moment the two of them were distracted, and rushed to Juliet for some recon. Juliet smiled as he dropped into the chair across from her desk, the one that the psychiatrist had been sitting in a moment before. "Well?" Shawn asked. "Ingles is harmless, right?"

"Sorry, Shawn," she said. "Dr. Arlin confirmed our suspicions that Dupree was a threat. He said he had actually been getting concerned enough to consider coming forward himself."

"That's not possible," Shawn said. "Did he give you Ingles' files?"

She shook her head. "No, he was cooperative, but he's worried about patient/doctor confidentiality. He said he wouldn't give us anything unless we got a warrant, but I don't see any reason to. We already know who our guy is."

"But you're wrong! Call Phil Collins!" Shawn said. "I'm sure he'll back me up on this."

"Shawn," Juliet said, and her voice was tinged with concern, "I know this must be hard for you. I think maybe you're too close to this to see it clearly. I think maybe you're wrong this time."

"But Jules! I'm never wrong!" he said. "Ingles isn't dangerous."

"I don't know what to tell you, Shawn, that's what he said," she said. "He believes that Ingles is more than capable of all this."

"Then how do you explain Amber?" Shawn asked.

Juliet frowned then. "I haven't been able to get in touch with her, and her husband doesn't know where she's gone, but sometimes people just don't want to be found--"

"There was a letter," he said.

"What?" Juliet asked.

"The husband, when he came back, all he found was a letter," Shawn explained. "That's why he's so bitter."

"That's true," Juliet admitted. "How did you--nevermind."

Shawn grinned, his hand lifting to press lightly against his bruised temple. "My powers are awe-inspiring, I know," he said. "Still think I'm not thinking clearly?"

Lassiter stormed over to them, and glared down. "Come on, Spencer, we're leaving."

"Where are you taking him?" Juliet asked.

Lassiter winced. "I've just been appointed babysitter," he told her.

Juliet bit her lip. "My sympathies," she said.

"Hey!" Shawn said, offended. "Y tu, Juliet?"

"Sorry, Shawn," Juliet said. "I didn't mean it like that, exactly."

Lassiter grinned at him. "Yes, she did," he said, and gave Shawn a push towards the door.

"I think you're a bad influence on her," Shawn told him.

"I'm a very good influence on her," Lassiter snapped. "One of these days, I'll have her kicking you out of the station the moment you step foot inside."

"You don't even do that anymore," Shawn pointed out. "Admit it, you've started to like me a little."

Lassiter scrunched up his face. "I have not."

"You totally have!" Shawn said, moving around to the passenger side of the Crown Vic. "You used to be all, 'get out of here, Spencer!' I don't want to see yo' face, Willis!' and now you just kind of half-heartedly tell me to get lost. I'm growing on you."

They got into the car and Lassiter started up the car, before turning to look at him. "Willis?" he said.

"I know, that kind of fell apart," Shawn admitted. "It's 'What you talkin' about, Willis, isn't it?' I always get that wrong. I guess I just love saying 'Willis.'"

Lassiter rolled his eyes, and then pulled out into the street.

Shawn tapped his fingers on the edge of his seat, but he wasn't able to stay quiet for long. "So my father was probably kind of upset, huh?"

"Let's be clear," Lassiter said, "I've been assigned to protect you from your stalker, not your father. So you get to deal with him."

"That's not fair," Shawn said. "I want to trade."

Lassiter ignored him with the ease of long practice. "And don't think you're going to be skipping out on me, either," he said. "You don't want to test me, Spencer."

"I wouldn't ditch you, Lassie," he said. "We're going to have way too much fun."

Lassiter looked vaguely sick, and Shawn laughed and sunk deeper into his seat. He was about to starting listing all the things they would be able to do together, when he caught sight of the car behind them in the side mirror.

"Lassie, I think we're being followed," he said, turning to look back. The BMW turned the corner just as Lassiter looked into the rearview mirror.

His eyebrows furrowed. "I don't see anything. Was it Dupree?" he asked.

Shawn huffed. "Would I be this uptight if it was just my stalker following me?" he asked.

Lassiter almost laughed, Shawn could tell. "You know, I never can tell when you're serious."

"That's easy," Shawn said. "I never am."

That time, Lassiter smiled. One of these times, Shawn vowed, he would get him to actually laugh.


	4. The Houseguest

Part Four: The Houseguest

Henry was standing in the driveway when they pulled up. He waited until Shawn got out of the car so he could make sure he was still in one piece, and then he turned around and went inside without a word.

"Okay, I can't go in there," Shawn said. "I haven't seen my dad that mad in years."

Lassiter came to stand next to him. "What are you talking about? He didn't say anything."

"Exactly!" Shawn said. "When he's yelling, I can just tune him out, he gets to vent, I don't have to do anything, it's the perfect foolproof system."

Lassiter grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him along behind. "I can't believe it's this easy to get to you," he said. "If I'd known that silence was the one thing that bothered you, I would have started to ignore you ages ago."

"You'd never last," Shawn said positively. "My dad on the other hand, once went almost three years without saying anything to me. Admittedly, he didn't know where I was, but that's hardly an excuse."

Lassiter just gave him a final push inside, before stopping right inside the door. "Something smells good," he said.

Shawn grabbed onto him, clutching desperately at his shirt. "Oh, god," he said. "He's been cooking. This isn't good."

Lassiter shook him off. Henry leaned out the doorway of the kitchen, wearing an apron that said 'kiss the chef.' "Dinner's going to be ready in five minutes," he told them, before disappearing again.

Lassiter turned to look at Shawn. "I can see why you're so terrified," he said.

"We're in uncharted waters here, Lassie," Shawn said. "Be afraid. Be very afraid."

Lassiter rolled his eyes and moved past him into the kitchen. Henry had set the table with three spots. Shawn slipped in carefully behind him, and took the chair that was farthest from where his father would sit.

"You're not sending me to bed without dinner?" Shawn asked warily.

Henry turned to look at him, and pointed at him with a mashed potato covered spoon. "Just sit down, Shawn," he said. "I'm trying really hard to control my anger here."

This seemed to interest Shawn greatly, and he leaned across the table to watch his father work. "Did you really take my advice and join a support group?" he asked. "Because can I just say, I think you've made incredible progress."

"No, Shawn, I have not joined a support group," Henry said, "Much as I'm beginning to think everyone who knows you should probably form one."

"Was that a joke?" Shawn asked. "Did you just make a joke? You're not on drugs, are you?"

Henry sighed, and attempted to ignore him. He brought over a plate, and set in the center of the table. "I made my world famous pork chops--"

"Wait, what? World famous? Don't tell me you've cooked Babe!" Shawn stared at the plate in mock horror.

"My world famous recipe, smart ass," Henry snapped.

"Just because you got it from Aunt Mae in Fresno doesn't make it world famous, and I hate to break it to you, but I'm pretty sure she copied the recipe off the back of a Bisquick box."

"Shawn," Henry said. "Are you trying to make me mad?"

Shawn watched him warily. "This new calm manner is freaking me out," he explained. "You're like a pod person. I think I'd feel better if you'd just start yelling and get it out of your system."

"We have company," Henry said.

"That's never stopped you before, and anyway, Lassie doesn't count as company," he said, stabbing at a pork chop with his fork. "He's just my bodyguard."

"I'm not your bodyguard," Lassiter protested hotly, as he picked out a pork chop for himself. "I . . . I just have to guard you from bodily harm."

Shawn leaned forward. "That's like the best definition of bodyguard that I've ever heard."

"Please excuse my son, detective," Henry said.

"You don't have to apologize for him, Henry," Lassiter said. "I'm sadly very used to dealing with him."

Shawn didn't like this. He didn't like it at all. This bonding thing had the potential for disastrous results. He'd only narrowly avoided it before, in what Shawn had come to label the fishing debacle of 2007.

"I think I'm getting somewhere with my case," Shawn announced loudly, deciding that shop talk might be the best way to keep them from teaming up against him.

Henry and Lassiter both looked interested, and Shawn applauded himself for his skills at misdirection. "You know where Dupree is hiding?" Lassiter asked.

"Dupree?" Shawn said. "What? No, no, the case, Lassiter, the case."

"This is the case," Lassiter said.

Shawn glanced from Lassiter to his father, incredulous. "Seriously? Does no one listen to me? I'm talking about Amber Delaney."

"The Alice Clothing Amber Delaney?" Lassiter asked.

"Yes," Shawn said. "You haven't found her, have you?"

"I haven't been looking," Lassiter said. "We're a little busy looking for Ingles' Dupree."

"This is exactly my point!" Shawn said. "You're looking for the wrong person."

Henry slammed his hand down on the table. "Enough, Shawn," he said. "I don't care about this Amber Delaney. I care about you. And you've gotten more and more reckless, kid, ever since you started up this little agency of yours. I think you need to stop and think real hard about what's happening right now, because you're not seeing the whole picture, and I taught you better than that. There's no such thing as coincidence, and I think it's time you admit this stalker has more to do with this than you're letting on."

Shawn sat there still, startled. He was torn between being relieved his father had finally just gave in and let him have it, and disturbed by what he'd just been told. But his father was right about one thing.

He still wasn't seeing the whole picture.

"I've lost my appetite," Shawn said, and stood from the table. He was careful not to look at Lassiter as he turned and went up the stairs.

He'd planned to drive Lassiter crazy, he hadn't counted on things tilting on their head, and he didn't want Lassiter to see him this way. He didn't want him to see what his father's words could still do to him.

Shawn went into his room and locked the door, before throwing himself down on his bed. He closed his eyes. Logically, he understood that Ingles' was the best suspect, but everything he knew about people told him that he wasn't.

Still, he had to think of the whole picture, his dad was right, Ingles wasn't a coincidence. The timing was far too convenient.

He opened his eyes when there was a knock on the door, but decided to ignore it. There was another, louder knock, and then Shawn could hear Lassiter take a large calming breath. "Spencer, open this door," he yelled.

Shawn rolled his eyes, but pulled himself to his feet and opened the door. "I can't even be alone in my old room?" he asked.

Lassiter walked inside, glancing suspiciously at the window. "Your father told me about your little trip out the window earlier."

"I'm not going to sneak out in the middle of the night," Shawn said, making a motion over his heart. "Cross my heart, hope to die."

Lassiter grabbed Shawn's old recliner and pulled it in front of the window. "I'm sleeping here."

"You're kidding me," Shawn said. "You're not kidding me? You can't stay here all night! What will my dad think?"

Lassiter dropped down into the chair. "Then you better hope we catch Ingles' soon," he said. "I'm not letting you out of my sight until we do."

"This is ridiculous," Shawn said. "You don't even like me. If Ingles really was some psychotic, he'd be doing you a favor."

"Is that what you really think?" Lassiter asked. "I thought you were psychic?"

"I don't need to use my psychic powers to know how you feel about me, Lassie," Shawn said tiredly, sitting down on his bed. "But I also know that you take your job very seriously, and that I'm probably wasting my breath."

"Shawn," Lassiter said, almost gently. "You drive me nuts, and I think you're a fraud. That doesn't mean I want to see you hurt."

Shawn laughed. "Yeah, I know," he said. "But you just summed up the problem. You think I'm fraud. So you ignore me when I try to explain that Ingles is not a part of this, at least not knowingly."

Lassiter sighed, and went quiet a moment before leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees. "If I've learned anything about you, Spencer," he said, "it's that you never do anything without a reason, even if it seems incomprehensible to me at the time. So tell me. Let's talk it through. I'm willing to listen, if nothing else."

Shawn shook his head. "You don't understand, I can't," he said. "It's all in my head, but I haven't made sense of it yet. It's that break in at Alice Clothing, though, it starts with that. There's something wrong there. It was staged. Whoever broke into that place, they did it for something else."

"But you don't know what," Lassiter said.

Shawn bit his lip. "Amber," he said. "It has to do with her. I'm just not sure how yet."

"Okay," Lassiter said. "Now let me tell you what I know. You have a stalker. You admit to this. And since you've had a stalker, you've had your agency broken into, and you've been run off the road. You're smart enough to know you're in danger here."

"I never said I wasn't," Shawn told him. "I just don't think I'm in danger for the same reasons that you think I am."

"Even if I believed you, it wouldn't change anything," Lassiter said. "You admit you could be in danger. I'm not going anywhere."

Shawn was just trying to think of something he could say to that annoyingly reasonable response, when his phone started ringing. He answered it without glancing at the caller ID, thinking it was Gus calling to apologize.

"Hey, Shawn!" Ingles greeted him, instead.

Shawn sat up straighter. "Ingles!" he said. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Did you call the police on me, Shawn?" Ingles asked. He sounded like he'd been crying. "I tried to go home, but I couldn't. They were there."

Lassiter had jumped to his feet, calling Jules on his cell. "Dupree just called Spencer. I want a trace."

"What? No, Ingles, I didn't call the police on you," Shawn told him, ignoring Lassiter's frantic hand motions telling him to stay on the line. "My friends are just a little overprotective."

"Who was that man you were with?" Ingles demanded. "The tall lanky one."

"Oh, him? That's just Lassie. And I feel like I should warn you that he's tracing your call," Shawn said.

"Oh, okay," Ingles said. "I should probably go then."

"Spencer!" Lassiter snapped, trying to grab the phone from him. Shawn pulled away, sliding over to the opposite side of the bed.

"He already hung up," Shawn told him.

"He knew I was here, Spencer," Lassiter yelled. "He's watching us."

"He's a stalker, that's kind of what he does," Shawn said.

Lassiter pointed at him. "I will deal with you in a minute," he said, before dialing Juliet again. "Did we get anything?"

"It was a payphone. A unit was nearby, but he was already gone when they got there," she told him. "And Lassiter, it was just a couple of blocks away from Mr. Spencer's house."

Lassiter hung up the phone and glared at Spencer. "I hope you realize that you're gambling with your life," he said.

"You had time to get your trace," Shawn said.

"We would have had time to get him, if you'd kept him on the line," he said.

Shawn looked morally outraged. "As a psychic," he said, "I have a code of honor to uphold to. I don't like to lie."

"Really?" Lassiter said, moving around the bed so he could look him in the eyes. "Cause I'm pretty sure you're lying to me right now."

Shawn didn't say anything else, and Lassiter called the station again as he left the room.

xxxxxx

Lassiter snored.

It was pretty much the perfect ending to his really bad day. Shawn flipped over on the bed, trying to ignore the feeling he had that he was being watched. Lassiter was asleep, and anyway it was dark. No one could see him.

He'd changed into his old SBHS P.E. sweat pants, and they ended a few inches above the ankle, which Shawn thought made him look a little like the Hulk. He'd also had no choice but to put on the Ace of Base t-shirt, but it was worth it, because he'd finally made Lassiter laugh.

He couldn't, however, seem to sleep. He hadn't slept in this room since he was eighteen. He hadn't slept in the same house as father in just as long. He'd slept in the same room with Lassiter pretty much never, and that was a whole other thing he didn't need.

And there was the fact that Shawn couldn't stop thinking about Amber.

He didn't even know what she looked like, all he could see was her name on that board, crossed out with a red marker straight through the center. Shawn's worked a lot of places. He knew what it was like to just disappear.

But he didn't know what it was like for no one to come looking, because he had Gus. Amber didn't have anyone. Not even her husband, not really, and Shawn had a really bad feeling that the person that was missing her the most had probably killed her.

Shawn was just about to flip over onto his other side when he heard someone creeping outside the door. He sat up quietly, and kicked Lassiter with his foot. Lassiter was on his feet with his gun aimed at the door before he was even awake.

"What? What is it?" Lassiter hissed.

The door swung open, and Henry was standing there in a fluffy white robe, with a rifle resting on his shoulder. "There's someone in the house," he whispered, before doing some kind of complicated hand signal thing at Lassiter.

Lassiter nodded, shaking his head, pointing at his eyes and back at Henry, and Shawn watched them go back and forth at this for awhile. "You don't honestly expect me to know what any of that means?" Shawn asked in a whisper.

Lassiter glanced at him. "Stay here, Spencer," he demanded, before following Henry out of the room.

Shawn waited about ten seconds, and then grabbed his old bat out from under his bed and followed them out. Henry and Lassiter both glared at him, but they had to keep quiet, and so they just pointed at the floor a lot, which Shawn supposed they thought would get him to stay where he was.

Shawn moved towards the stairs, and Lassiter grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and jerked him back. Shawn sputtered indignantly, but Henry and Lassiter had already gone ahead, creeping down the stairs. Shawn could hear what his father must have heard, slight footsteps coming from the living room.

When they made it to the bottom of the stairs, the back door was wide open.  
The three of them made their way silently into the living room, but they couldn't see anyone. Shawn squinted in the darkness, and just as he caught sight of a shadowy figure lurking behind the couch, there was a sudden gunshot.

Shawn barely had time to register this, and then he was hitting the ground hard, his father's fluffy robed body covering him. Shawn felt all the air leave him as the impact hit.

The assailant took off running back towards the back door, and Lassiter followed hot on his heels.

Shawn felt his father roll off him, and saw him stand to turn on the light. He looked down at Shawn to make sure he wasn't hit, and then turned to look at the wall. His favorite mounted fish had not been as lucky as Shawn and Henry. There was a large bullet hole right smack dab in the middle of it.

"That bastard shot my fish," Henry shouted.

Shawn was still on the ground, cradling his cast, and he looked up to glare at his father. "I'm fine by the way, thanks for asking," he said. "Aside from feeling like I was tackled by the White Rabbit. Seriously? What is with that robe? Did you steal it from your day spa?"

Lassiter came running back in, already on his phone. "Get here fast, O'Hara," he said, before hanging up. "I lost him, he drove off before I could get a shot." Lassiter looked over at Henry and Shawn. "You two okay?"

"We're fine," Shawn said. "But it doesn't look good for the fish."

Lassiter held out a hand to help Shawn up. Shawn looked at it for a moment, before reaching out and accepting it. Henry was quick to get to his other side, having finally pried himself away from his fish. "You okay?" Henry asked. "You don't look so good."

Shawn was a little unsteady on his feet. Getting tackled by Henry was like running full speed into a wall, and Shawn should know, he's experienced both. He decided to use the disorientation to his advantage, and spun in place, falling backwards onto the couch as if in a faint. "The car!" he said. "I see the car! It was the BMW, a brilliant midnight blue."

Henry rolled his eyes. "He's fine," he said.

Lassiter was nodding. "Yeah, it was," he admitted. "I didn't get a chance to read the plates."

Shawn nodded. "I wasn't able to read them psychically, either, but how many of them can there be in Santa Barbara?"

"Twenty-eight," Lassiter said. "I had Juliet check earlier when you thought we were being followed. They might be able to narrow it down, if we had the model or a partial license."

"I bet Ingles Dupree doesn't drive a BMW," Shawn said.

Lassiter sighed. "You're assuming it isn't stolen," he said.

"It's not him," Shawn said, sitting up. "I just had a conversation with him. He said nothing about coming to kill me."

"Who else would it be?" Lassiter asked. "Wait, nevermind, there's probably entire lists of people that want to kill you."

"Lassiter," Shawn said softly, using his full name to get his attention. It worked. "Are you telling me there's nothing strange about this?"

"You give me something then, Shawn," Lassiter snapped. "Something aside from some vision or your 'feelings.' Because right now, this is the only lead we have."

Shawn could hear the sirens coming already. He knew whoever had been here was already long gone. His father was watching him closely, impatiently tapping a foot. "You ready to admit you were wrong?" Henry asked.

"Actually," Shawn told him. "I'm more convinced than ever that I'm right."


	5. On The UnCase

Part Five: On The _Un_-Case

The police were there most of the night, and Vick ordered a patrol car to sit outside the house. Despite Shawn's efforts to convince them otherwise, they only viewed Ingles' phone call as further evidence of his guilt.

Shawn had been wired, and he had wanted to help, but after forcing him to get checked out by a paramedic his father had sent him back off to bed. Shawn vowed that as soon as his father no longer had a gun toting detective and the Chief of Police to back him up, he was going to make a point of doing the opposite of everything he said.

But as loathe as he had been to admit it, Shawn really had been tired, so he'd fallen into bed and slept for five hours, waking almost at ten, to Lassiter's snoring.

Shawn looked over at Lassiter, sleeping in his chair, and glared at him. Shawn briefly considered kicking him awake again, but quickly thought of a much better idea. He quietly slid off the bed, grabbed his clothes and shoes, and then slipped out the door and into the bathroom across the hall.

He got dressed and then tiptoed past his father's closed door and down the stairs. He was just about to reach the backdoor when his father said, "Going somewhere?"

Shawn spun around. His father was standing at the stove, cooking bacon and eggs, and Shawn narrowed his eyes. "You're cooking again," he said.

"Cooking is good stress relief," Henry said. "And my favorite fish was murdered last night in cold blood."

"I am sorry about that," Shawn said. "I would have taken the hit for him if I could have. He was a good fish."

"Don't even joke about that, Shawn," Henry snapped, dropping the frying pan and turning to look at him. "I really need for you to not joke about this."

Shawn resignedly moved away from the door, and sat down at the kitchen table. "You cook, I joke," he said. "That's just how it is. If I can handle you owning a whisk and a cake-mixer, then you're just going to have to let me make jokes."

"God damn it, Shawn," Henry said. "Do you even realize what happened here last night? Do you understand how close that was? This guy was coming to kill you."

"Stalkers crave recognition, they think that things revolve around them," Shawn said. "If they were going to kill the person they were stalking, they would want confrontation. They would want them to know who did it. Whoever was here last night was wearing a ski mask, he didn't want to be seen. It wasn't Ingles."

"He knew you were being watched by the police," Lassiter said, coming down the final steps to join them in the kitchen. "Maybe he was planning ahead."

"Whoever came here last night obviously wasn't planning ahead," Shawn said. "That was a disgraceful murder attempt. He didn't even have night-vision goggles."

Lassiter sat down at the table next to Shawn, watching him carefully. "I wanted to go to the station in a bit," he said. "You can either come with me, or I can have someone come relieve me. It's up to you. But if you come, you have to stay at the station."

"Shawn's not good at staying put," Henry said. "He was just about--"

"That sounds lovely," Shawn interrupted, turning to glare at his father. "I'll go with you. I want to check in with Jules on the case anyway."

Lassiter very carefully did not ask which case Shawn meant, he just nodded, before glancing at Henry. "Don't worry, Henry," he said. "I'll have McNab look after him. You know, he once went two and a half hours without blinking."

Henry didn't look at all reassured. "You'd better keep one eye on him, too, just in case."

Shawn huffed indignantly. "I do know how to look after myself, you know," he said.

Henry snorted, but did not comment. Lassiter just looked thoughtful. "I'll let the whole station know not to let him leave," he said.

Henry nodded. "Probably a good idea."

Shawn sputtered indignantly. "Seriously? That's not fair!"

Lassiter just smiled at him as Henry handed him a plate. "Like you said, Spencer, I take my job seriously. You should try it sometime."

Lassiter was becoming way too good at handling him, Shawn thought uneasily. He was learning all of his tricks.

Shawn slunk into his seat, and was careful to hide a smile. It was just a good thing that he loved a challenge.

xxxxx

Lassiter had made an announcement to all the officers on duty as soon as they arrived, letting them know that Shawn was in protective custody and wasn't to leave the station without prior approval by either Chief Vick or himself. Then he'd called Buzz over and told him not to let him out of his sight.

So now Shawn was wandering around the station, with Buzz trailing behind him like a six-foot puppy with an orbicularis oculi disorder. Shawn was really trying not to let it freak him out.

He went over to Juliet's desk, and jumped up on the edge. Juliet looked up at him with fond exasperation. "Hi, Shawn. Are you doing okay?"

"Right as rain," he said. "We're holding a funeral tomorrow at six o'clock. Do you think you can come? We're having a pot luck, but out of respect I ask that you please don't bring any seafood."

"A funeral," Juliet said slowly. "For the fish?"

"It's good for the grieving process," Shawn explained, before smoothly moving on. "So, did you ever get Ingels' psychiatric files?"

Juliet shook her head. "I told you, we don't have any reason to get a warrant for them. We know what we need to already."

"But, Jules!"

"I'm sorry, Shawn," she said. "Can't you just, I don't know, view them psychically?"

"It doesn't work that way," Shawn said. "I can't just tap into someone's confidential records on the psychic network. I get senses, feelings, sometimes visions, but I don't make them happen at will."

"Then I don't know what to tell you," Juliet said. "I really have to go. Lassiter wants me to go back to Ingles' apartment to see if we missed anything. Will you be okay here?"

"Yeah," Shawn said, waving her off. "I'll be fine. I've got Buzz to keep me company."

Juliet gave him a sympathetic smile. "It will all work out, Shawn," she said, before turning on her heel and leaving the station.

Shawn wandered around the station for a bit, skipping between desks, watching Buzz struggle to keep up with him. It was amusing for about three minutes, and then he got bored and stopped at one of the chalkboards. He picked up a piece of chalk, and furrowed his brow, before reaching out and drawing like he was possessed.

Buzz came to a stop behind him, and Shawn examined his work. It was a little stick-figure Lassie, waving around a gun, with a stick-figure Shawn beside him, offering a pineapple. Shawn drew in a text bubble, and wrote (Have a delicious pineapple!)

"I don't think you should be doing that," Buzz told him, casting a glance towards Lassiter, who was at his desk on a call.

"Think of your orders, Buzz," Shawn said. "You're only here to watch me, correct? And interfere only if I try to leave the station?"

"Yes, but--"

"This is a rare and unique opportunity for you to observe the work of a professional psychic," Shawn said. "This is my process. Please don't interrupt."

Buzz closed his mouth and nodded sagely.

"Thank you," Shawn said, and then he wrote _Shawn_ and _Lassie-face_, and drew a big heart between them.

"How exactly does this help the case?" Buzz asked, apparently forgetting his oath not to interrupt again.

Shawn dusted the chalk from his hands. "It's a message from beyond," Shawn told him. "It means Lassie and I will need to work together to solve this case."

Buzz nodded. "I think that's a great idea. We'll find your stalker, Shawn," he said reassuringly.

"I'm not talking about that," Shawn said, but he was tired of explaining about the entire case that the SBPD had failed to see, so he just shrugged and walked across the room towards the bathroom. Buzz followed closely behind.

"I think I can handle this part on my own," Shawn told him.

"I'm not allowed to let you out of my sight," Buzz protested.

"I know, and you're really very good at that," Shawn said. "I feel I should tell you that Lassiter in no way meant that literally. Now I have to go the bathroom. There aren't any windows in there, remember? Because you guys don't want suspects jumping out them? I'll be fine."

"Okay," Buzz said eventually, but he still looked wary.

Shawn slipped inside before Lassiter could look up from his desk and see him, and then went into the stall against the back wall and closed the door. Gus hadn't been answering his phone all morning, so Shawn dialed the work cell number that he wasn't supposed to have. Gus answered on the third ring. "Burton Guster speaking, how may I help you?"

"You want a list?" Shawn asked. "First you leave me locked up in Lassie's handcuffs, and then you don't even call when some guy comes and shoots up my dad's house?"

"What?" Gus sounded horrified. "Shawn, where are you?"

"I'm at the station," Shawn said. "The Chief had me put in protective custody, and apparently thought it would be really hilarious to assign Lassiter to watch me."

Shawn could hear Gus's breath of relief. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Only my dad's fish," Shawn said. "And I'd never tell him this, but it was a total mercy killing."

"Shawn," Gus snapped. "Tell me what happened."

"I just did tell you what happened," Shawn said. "Weren't you listening?"

"Was it Ingels?" Gus asked. "I knew it, Shawn! See, I was right to call the police--"

"Don't get me started on that," Shawn said. "They've got people watching me constantly. I can't solve this case if I'm not allowed to investigate."

"There's nothing to investigate. You're safe at the station, you need to stay there," Gus said.

"There's something going on with the psychiatrist," Shawn said. "I don't know what. It's weird, though. He told Jules that Ingles' was dangerous."

"His psychiatrist said that?" Gus asked.

"Yeah. But there's just no way I could have been that wrong about him," Shawn said.

"Well, you obviously were," Gus said. "So just let the police handle this."

"On the contrary, my dear Watson," Shawn said. "That's exactly what we shouldn't do. I need to see Ingels' files."

"I'm not Watson," Gus snapped.

"Oh, please, you're totally my Watson!" Shawn said.

"Shawn! We're partners. You know we're Sonny and Rico."

"Oh, right," Shawn said. "Which one am I again?"

"You're Sonny, Shawn," Gus said.

"Well, regardless, my dear Rico," Shawn said. "We need to see those files."

"The police files?" Gus asked.

"No, his psychiatric files," Shawn said.

"Those are confidential, Shawn," Gus snapped.

"Well, I didn't say I was going to _ask_ for them," Shawn said. "I'm just going to pay good ole Doc Arlin a visit."

"Wait, Dr. Edward Arlin?" Gus asked. "He orders his prescriptions from my company."

"It's kismet!" Shawn said. "This is perfect. I need you to get in to see him, in say, a half hour? Just tell him you're there to interview him to make sure he's satisfied with his level of service. Then I'll show up as your partner. It's perfect."

"Shawn," Gus protested. "Even if I was remotely inclined to do any of that, you're not supposed to leave the station. Lassiter isn't going to _let_ you leave the station."

"Well, he can come with us," Shawn said.

"What? How do you expect to manage that?"

"I'll just tell him I have an appointment with my psychiatrist, and ask if he'll take me," Shawn said. "He's been trying to get me to seek professional help since I met him. He'll probably be thrilled."

"Someone's trying to kill you, Shawn," Gus said. "Maybe it's not Ingles, but you can't be running off--"

"I said I was going to take him with me," Shawn said.

"You say a lot of things," Gus snapped.

"I promise, Gus," Shawn said.

"You seriously promise?" Gus asked warily. "You're going to bring Lassiter with you?"

"Yes," Shawn said. "I'm pretty sure that's the only way I'm getting out here, anyway. Lassiter threatened to handcuff me to the file cabinet if I tried anything, and I don't think he was bluffing. I'm starting to think he has a handcuff fetish."

Gus sighed heavily. "Okay," he said. "But I swear to god, Shawn, if you sneak away from him again I will turn you in myself."

"I think you've made your feelings on the matter perfectly clear," Shawn said. "And don't think we're not going to have a long discussion about all the broken Codes of Friendship you're racking up as soon as this is over."

"Whatever, Shawn," Gus said. "I'll be there in half an hour."

Shawn hung up the phone, just as someone stormed into the bathroom. He frowned, and then someone was pounding on his stall. Shawn reached out to unlock it, and Lassiter stood there glaring in at him. "Spencer, what are you doing in here?"

"This place is called a bathroom," Shawn explained. "Generally the things that go on in here are not discussed in polite society."

"Spencer--"

"Okay," Shawn said. "The truth is I think I'm having a breakdown. I was almost murdered last night. I'm rightly terrified. I need to seek professional help."

"You'll get no argument from me," Lassiter said, but his eyes were narrowed. "But you handled last night as good as any cop I know. You were calm. You didn't panic. You were still cracking jokes."

"Total defense mechanism," Shawn said. "Honestly, I'm scared out of my mind about all of this. Everyone's saying so, you know, they think I'm in denial about the stalker. Maybe I am."

"You're admitting you might be wrong?" Lassiter asked.

"That depends," Shawn said. "If I do, will you take me to see my psychiatrist? I was just able to book an emergency session. I think it will really help me to come to terms with all of this."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine, I'll take you," he said. "Like I don't have anything better to do on my lunch break."

As they were about to leave, Lassiter caught sight of the chalkboard and came to a slow stop. He tilted his head as he looked at it, before turning to Shawn. "Spencer, did you do this?" he asked. "Buzz, did Spencer do this?"

Shawn made frantic signals to Buzz behind Lassiter's back, which he hoped Buzz would interpret as 'No, Spencer absolutely did not do that.'

"I'm pretty sure it was the spirits that did it, sir," Buzz said, and Shawn grinned.

"Oh for--" Lassiter grabbed Shawn's arm and dragged him to the car.

xxxxx

"You can see the door from here!" Shawn said, pointing to the door. "It's not like I'm going to make a run for it. That would be completely undignified."

"I'm going in with you, Spencer," Lassiter said. "It's either that or I take you back to the station right now."

"But this is intensely private," Shawn complained. "I'm going to be revealing my innermost thoughts and fears, and also, I spend like fifty percent of my sessions discussing you."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "I'm not going into the office with you, Spencer, I'm going into the building with you. I'll stay in the waiting room. Take it or leave it."

Shawn glanced out the window. He could make out Gus's little blue car at the other side of the lot. If Gus was in the waiting room, his cover would be blown. Still, it didn't look like he had much choice. "Okay," Shawn said. "But don't write all the answers in the Highlights while you wait. I call dibs on those."

Shawn glanced at the directory as they went into the entryway, and saw Arlin's name listed as being on the second floor. He started up the stairs without stopping, and tried to put a bit of distance between him and Lassiter.

He opened the door, glancing inside. He could see Gus flirting with the receptionist through the glass wall of the waiting room, and he pulled back from the door, knocking Lassiter back with him.

He started shaking his leg. "Oh, there's a presence here!" Shawn said. "It's angry. And crazy."

"Spencer," Lassiter snapped. "Knock it off."

"Just wait a moment," Shawn said, and fell against the wall like he was exhausted. He sucked in a deep breath. "Okay. I think it's gone."

Shawn pushed in front of Lassiter again and leaned in the room. Gus was gone. Shawn let out a breath and then entered the office, with Lassiter behind him. "Okay, wait here," Shawn said. "My psychiatrist could only free up about ten minutes, so I won't be long."

Lassiter nodded. He crossed his arms and stood right by the only door.

Shawn went into the office, and came to a stop at the receptionist desk. "Hello there," he said. "My name is Dill Von Brugal, I believe my associate just arrived."

The receptionist frowned. "You're with Mr. Guster? He said a Shawn Spencer would be coming in--"

"Mr. Spencer is unfortunately quite dead, and I have been sent in his stead," said Dill Von Brugal. "Is Dr. Arlin available?"

The woman looked startled. "No, but he's going to be in soon. I asked Mr. Guster to wait in his office."

Von Brugal gave a little bow. "Then if you do not mind, I will join him."

She nodded. "My condolences about Mr. Spencer!" she called.

"I will pass them on!" he said, before turning down the hall. Dr. Arlin's office was the first he came to, and he slipped inside. Gus was sitting quietly on the therapy couch.

"Dude," Shawn said. "You used my real name? You can use your name because you really are a pharmaceutical rep, but I'm incognito here."

"She asked for a name, Shawn," Gus, said. "What was I supposed to tell her?"

"That your partner's name was Dill Von Brugal. I should think that would be obvious, Gus," Shawn said, before moving around the desk to drop down into Arlin's chair. "Have you found anything yet?"

"Found anything?" Gus asked. "I thought we were here to question him."

"No, Gus," Shawn said. "We're here to look at Ingles' files. Seriously, it's like no one has been listening to anything I've said all week."

"Shawn!" Gus said, getting to his feet and moving to the door. "He's going to be here any minute!"

"You're look-out," Shawn said. He experimentally tugged at the file cabinet, but it was predictably locked. He was just about to ask Gus if he still had that swizzle stick on him when he noticed a manila folder on the surface of the desk. He reached out and grabbed it, and the tab read 'Dupree, Ingles.' He showed it to Gus. "Careless, for someone so concerned with patient/doctor confidentiality. Think he had a good reason for leaving it out?"

"Hurry up, Shawn," Gus said warningly.

Shawn flipped through the file, glancing at the dates of each entry of notes. "Huh," he said. "Ingles went from being classified as obsessive and slightly anti-social, but mostly harmless, to delusional and dangerous in just a matter of weeks. What could have happened to him to cause that drastic of a change in that short of time?"

Gus snorted. "Well, he met you," he said.

Shawn glanced up and gave him a look. "I don't think so," he said. He frowned at the reports. The older files were written in a quick, nearly illegible cursive. The newer files were all written in un-hurried print. "He's re-writing the reports," Shawn said.

"What?" Gus asked.

"He's re-writing them to make Ingles' look like something he's not," Shawn explained.

Gus heard footsteps, and quickly moved to one of the chairs. "Get out of his chair," he hissed. "He's coming."

Shawn replaced everything in the folder and set it back, before getting to his feet. He could see the edge of the door already opening, so he moved to the window instead of trying to make it to the chair, and pulled the curtain aside to look outside.

Shawn turned around when Dr. Arlin came in, like he was startled to see him there. "I was just looking at the view," he explained. "And might I say that brick wall is just lovely."

"Thank you," Dr. Arlin said. He looked pale. Shawn looked him over. He was wearing a similar sweater vest to the one he'd been wearing in his interview with Juliet. Shawn wondered if Arlin had seen him that day, because he could swear that there was recognition in his eyes.

Shawn moved from the window and sat in the chair beside Gus. Arlin came slowly around the desk to sit down in his own chair. It didn't go unnoticed by Shawn that the first thing he did was take Ingles' file and lock it away. "Now, what is this was about? My next appointment is in just a few minutes."

"Oh, this won't take long," Shawn said quickly. "We're just here to make sure that you're satisfied with your current pharmaceutical representation. It's a quick survey. Won't take but a minute."

Gus nodded his support. "It's completely routine," he said quickly. "We just want to make sure you're receiving the best service possible."

Arlin leaned back in his chair, assessing them. "You're here about pharmaceutical sales?" he asked. He seemed confused.

"Why else would we be here?" Shawn asked.

Arlin straightened up. "I wouldn't know," he said. "I've just never had a visit like this from the company. I'm perfectly satisfied with everything. Honestly, there's no need for this."

"Surely there must be something wrong with our service," Shawn said. "Late deliveries? Bad quality? Any patients turning orange?"

"Shawn," Gus hissed.

"No, no, there's nothing," Arlin said. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you gentlemen to leave. This just isn't a good time."

Arlin stood awkwardly and held out his hand, shaking Gus and Shawn's hands in turn, before quickly ushering them out the door.

"One more thing," Shawn said, turning back around, putting his foot in the door before Arlin could slam it shut on them. "What kind of car do you drive?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Arlin asked.

"Oh, just curious," Shawn said. "I was thinking of buying a car myself, and you doctor types always have such good taste."

"I drive a Lexus," he said impatiently.

"Huh," Shawn said. "That's interesting."

Arlin watched him stiffly. "Why is that?"

"No reason," Shawn said. "I just would have figured you for a BMW."

Arlin forced the door closed on them without another word.

"What the hell was that, Shawn?" Gus demanded. "What kind of car does he drive?"

"He knew who we were," Shawn said. "But he didn't want us to know he knew who we were, or he would have called us on it."

"So? Maybe he was just being polite," Gus said. "What's he going to say? Aren't you that psychic guy?"

"Sure," Shawn said. "Why wouldn't he?"

"You think he has something to do with this?" Gus asked disbelievingly.

"I think we need to go back to Alice Clothing," Shawn said.

Gus snorted. "Good luck, Shawn. Lassiter is never going to take you there."

Shawn grinned brightly.

"I don't like that look," Gus said.

"I just need you to call Lassiter for me," Shawn said. "Tell him I just showed up at your place."

"You want me to lie to an officer of the law?" Gus asked, outraged.

"Only to Lassie," Shawn said. "And he doesn't count."

"No way, Shawn."

"I've got to see this place," Shawn said. "Either you can come with me, or I can sneak off later on my own."

"You always have to have your way, don't you?"

"After all of our years of friendship, you shouldn't sound so surprised," Shawn said.

Gus glared at him, but took out his phone. "Hey, Lassiter, I just wanted to thank you for finding Ingles. What do you mean you didn't? Shawn's here now and he said--"

Shawn and Gus leaned around the corner of the office, and watched as Lassiter angrily shut the cell phone and went running out the doors. Shawn grinned. "This is too easy," he said.

xxxxx

Shawn and Gus were both feeling pretty smug as they climbed into the car, so they were understandably startled when Lassiter leaned forward from the back seat. "How stupid do you think I am?" he asked. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice _this_ car?"

"Wow, Lassie," Shawn said. "I'm impressed."

"I'm Head Detective," Lassiter snapped. "I think I can manage to keep track of one troublesome psychic. What are you up to, Spencer? I thought you said you weren't going to try anything?"

"I know, I'm sorry," Shawn said, and went for an earnest expression. "I just really need to go back to Alice Clothing."

"Why?" Lassiter asked. "I told you, there's nothing there."

"And I'm telling you that there is," Shawn said, "I feel very strongly about this. The spirits are certain that the answers are there."

"Forget the theatrics, Spencer," Lassiter said. "Just tell me what you know."

"That is what I know," Shawn said. "I'll be able to tell you more if you let me go."

Lassiter leaned back in the seat with a sigh. "Why do I get the feeling this wasn't really your psychiatrist?" Lassiter asked.

"Because I don't have one?" Shawn suggested. "Lassie, this is important. Believe me, I wouldn't have tried to give you the slip if it wasn't."

"Fine," Lassiter said, after a moment. "But I'm going with you. You don't leave my sight. Understood?"

"Understood," Shawn said, before turning to Gus. "You know, I've got like, two stalkers now, and you don't even have one. How cool am I?"

Gus gave him a strange look. "When this is all over," he said. "I really am going to make you go see a psychiatrist."

Shawn laughed. "Only if we can go to couples counseling," he said.

Lassiter kept hitting the back of Shawn's seat as he tried to adjust himself in the small space. "I was going for dramatic effect by getting in your car," he said, "but I really should have insisted we take mine."

"There's nothing wrong with my car," Gus said defensively.

"Don't listen to him, Gus," Shawn said. "The man drives a Crown Vic. He's obviously got no taste in cars."

"Hey!" Lassiter snapped.

Shawn was pretty sure when he hit his chair that time, it was on purpose. He glanced into the side mirror, and was about to retort, when he saw a small figure riding on a little scooter, at about ten miles per hour. He looked behind him to make sure that Lassiter had not noticed.

This was not good.

"Can't we go any faster?" Shawn asked.

"I'm going the speed limit, Shawn, you know how I feel about the rules of the road." Gus looked into the rearview mirror, and gave Lassiter an angelic smile. "I never break the law."

"Seriously, go faster," Shawn said. He looked back ahead, and didn't know whether or not to be grateful that they had arrived at Alice Clothing. If Lassiter turned around--

"Stalker!" Lassiter shouted. "It's the stalker!"

Shawn let his head bang against the dashboard, as Lassiter pulled out his gun and pushed his way out of the car. "Stay here, Spencer," he said.

"I was so hoping to avoid that," Shawn said.

Gus and Shawn both turned to watch. Lassiter went running down the street. Ingles', on his little scooter, let out a scream and made the widest U-Turn Shawn had ever seen, before racing back down the street, hitting speeds of nearly twelve miles per hour. On foot, Lassiter was quickly catching up, shouting lots of things like 'police' and 'stop' and 'pull your scooter slowly to the side of the road.'

Gus watched this whole scene with an odd expression. "I'm starting to think maybe you're right about Ingles," he said.

"See?" Shawn said. "Now, let's go prove it."

Shawn got out of the car and went to the doors of Alice Clothing. There was a keypad on the door, where a code could be entered to get in. Gus ran up beside him.

"Lassiter told you to wait here," Gus said.

"Yes, but he didn't really define the parameters of 'here,' did he? Here could be a big place. You say, I am here, and what do you mean? This street? The Earth? The Solar System?"

Gus glared at him. "I'm pretty sure he meant the car," he said.

"Then he should have told us to stay in the car," Shawn said, and punched a code into the door. It clicked open, and Shawn walked in.

Gus followed him with a sigh. "How did you know the code?" he asked.

"Someone named Kelly doesn't have a very good memory. She has it written on a post-it on her desk. I noticed it the last time we were here."

"Sometimes you really do scare me, Shawn," Gus said. "How did you know it wasn't just a file number or something?"

"I didn't," Shawn said, and shrugged. "What do you think? Should we start in the basement?"

"The basement?" Gus looked wary. "Shawn, why would we go into the basement? And why isn't there anyone here?"

"They're still closed down," Shawn said. "Officially, it's still a crime scene. The gang squad is working to decipher the graffiti. They could have saved themselves the time if they'd listened to me. It doesn't mean anything."

Shawn found the service staircase, and quickly headed down. He turned on the lights, but there were only three wall lights in the whole room, each of them flickering in horror film fashion. "I don't like it here, Shawn," Gus said.

"You said it yourself, Gus," Shawn said. "There's no one here. And the best of the SBPD is right down the street chasing down a stalker on a scooter. We're perfectly safe."

Shawn walked further into the room. He could see the air conditioning vent and some kind of boiler, and there was something familiar--

"Gus, I need the Super Smeller," Shawn said. "What is that?"

Gus sniffed the air. "That's bleach!" he said.

Shawn glanced at the cobweb filled corners. "I don't think anyone's been down to clean this place in a long time," he said. "I'm thinking this was more of an impromptu thing."

Gus was following his nose to an old file cabinet that had been pushed against the wall. Shawn walked over to him, and glanced down at the floor. Part of the floor was discolored, cleaner than the rest. He looked at the corner of the file cabinet. "Gus, help me move this," he said.

Gus and Shawn pushed the cabinet a few feet down the wall, and then stood back to see what they had revealed. Shawn frowned down at the floor. There were little bits of skin and blonde hair that had been caught on the edge of the cabinet, all stuck to the floor in a mess of congealed blood.

"Gus, I know what happened!" Shawn said, but Gus wasn't there.

Gus had already run screaming back up the stairs.


	6. The Magic 8 Ball Says Concentrate

Conclusion: The Magic 8 Ball Says Concentrate and Ask Again

Gus was standing by the door, looking at the ceiling when Shawn came up the stairs, trying for casual. Shawn had to give him points. He was actually managing it pretty well, considering he'd just run screaming up here like a little girl.

"There wasn't even a body, this time," Shawn said. "I thought you were going to man-up."

"Man-up?" Gus said. "Someone was killed down there. That's a murder scene. I'm not hanging around at a murder scene. It doesn't matter if there's a body or not. "

"That's kind of what I've been saying since this case started," Shawn said. "Which, by the way, I totally figured out."

Gus narrowed his eyes. "Really?"

"Yep," Shawn said. "Arlin's the boyfriend. He killed her."

"How did you figure that out?" Gus asked.

"It just came to me," Shawn said. "Sometimes I worry maybe I really am psychic, I'm so good it's scary."

"It just came to you?" Gus asked. "But what evidence do you have that he was having an affair with Amber?"

"He just was," Shawn said.

"That's not evidence, Shawn," Gus said.

"It's the only thing that makes any sense," Shawn said. "It's the only thing that explains everything that's happened, and we have to get on this fast, because he's getting rid of all the evidence."

"He didn't do so well cleaning up in the basement," Gus said, with a shiver.

"He didn't have time," Shawn said. "Seriously, this all makes sense now."

"Not to me," Gus said. "Anyway, he said he drives a Lexus. You don't even have the car to tie to him."

"Fair point," Shawn admitted. "Okay. We need to go back to the Psych office, so I can convene with the spirits."

"By which you mean you want your laptop so you can Google him," Gus said wryly.

"Correct," Shawn said.

"What about Lassiter?"

"I'm pretty sure Lassiter can handle himself on this one," Shawn said. "Anyway, we just need a few hard bits of evidence, then all we have to do is get everyone together, I have a psychic episode, and wah-lah. Case solved."

"You're not really psychic, Shawn," Gus said.

"Shh, shh!" Shawn hissed, making wild hand motions for Gus to be silent as Lassiter pounded on the door. He was dragging a cuffed and despondent Ingles behind him.

Shawn reached over and reluctantly opened the door. "Hi, Lassie! You know, not many men can go running down the road chasing after a scooter and still manage to look cool," he said.

"Well, ah, thanks, Spencer--" Lassiter said, nearly preening.

"So you shouldn't feel too bad that you didn't manage it, either," Shawn continued.

Lassiter's eyes narrowed. "I thought I told you to wait in the car," he snapped.

"Actually, you didn't," Shawn said. "Gus and I already discussed this at length, and I'm quite certain the word you used was 'here,' which really, could mean almost anything."

Ingles bounced on the heels of his feet. "Hi, Shawn!" he said happily, and then suddenly and without warning burst into tears. "He knocked me off my scooter."

"Lassie!" Shawn scolded.

"He didn't stop," Lassiter said. "He should be glad I didn't shoot him."

Ingles was wearing a helmet that had once read _Genesis Groupie._ Ingles had since crossed it all out with sparkly red puff paint, and replaced it with _Psychic Detective Groupie._

"Dude, your helmet rocks," Shawn told him.

"Thanks," Ingles said, and sniffed. "I made it special because of you."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Actually, I--" Shawn paused, straining like he was listening to something far off. "Do you hear that?"

Gus and Lassiter glanced around. "I don't hear anything," Lassiter said.

"Wait, wait," Shawn said, leaning against the building wall until his ear was pressed against it. "What's that, Alice?"

"Spencer--"

"Shh," Shawn said. "The building's trying to tell me something. Something terrible has happened here?" Shawn gasped. "That's awful! I'm very sorry you had to see that."

Ingles stared at Shawn raptly. "It's such an honor to be able to see you work."

"Spencer," Lassiter snapped. "Just spit it out."

"There's blood, yes, I see it, and bleach!" Shawn said. He pressed his eyes shut tight, and put his uninjured hand to his head. "Amber didn't go anywhere, at least not on her own."

"What?" Lassiter said.

"Oh, come on! I'm practically spelling this out for you." Lassiter just continued to glare, and Shawn sighed. "Okay, whatever, I'll give you the cliff notes version. There's evidence in the basement that Amber may not have left here alive." Shawn looked disappointed about having his extra cool psychic moment ruined. "Anyway, you should probably get a forensic team down there."

"I think I just got chills," Ingles said.

Lassiter gave him a disgusted look, and Shawn smiled at him delightedly. "Don't worry, that's a common side-effect of my presence," he said. Shawn and Gus moved past Lassiter and back out onto the sidewalk.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lassiter demanded, spinning in place and dragging Ingles with him.

"We've got a case to solve," Shawn said. "We were kind of thinking about going to, you know, solve it."

"Spencer, we're going to the station. I already called for a patrol to come pick us up," Lassiter snapped. "Have you forgotten that you're in protective custody?"

"You caught my frighteningly dangerous stalker," Shawn said. "I no longer need protection."

"Hey," Ingles protested, but everyone ignored him.

"You're the one that said he wasn't behind this," Lassiter said, exasperated.

"Yeah, but you didn't believe me," Shawn protested. "Now all of the sudden you do? How does that work, exactly?"

"I want you to come to the station," Lassiter said, trying to sound reasonable.

"I hate to go over your head and everything," Shawn told him, as he started back towards Gus's car, "but Vick was very clear. She said I only had to stay in protective custody until Ingles was caught. I've got places to be, murderers to catch! See ya soon."

"Shawn!" Ingles shouted. "What about me?"

"Don't worry, Ingles, I'm working on it! You'll be home in no time," he said.

"Spencer!" Lassiter shouted, in one last attempt. Shawn put on his sunglasses and pretended not to hear him.

Gus had already got into the driver's seat, and as Shawn was about to shut his door, he could hear Lassiter's incredulous voice. "Is that a Coalition to Stop Gun Violence button?"

Shawn laughed and Gus pulled them out into the street.

xxxxxxx

"Anything yet?" Shawn asked.

"Shawn, I just turned on the computer," Gus snapped. "Give me some space." Gus cracked his knuckles, and worked a kink out of his neck. "Okay," he said. "I'm ready to Google."

"Work your magic, buddy," Shawn said, and dropped down into his chair. He started working at his own laptop.

Gus was frowning. "There's not much on Arlin," he said after a minute. "He doesn't publish much, if at all. There is, however, quite bit on his wife."

Shawn sat up straighter. "Do tell," he said.

"Apparently her maiden name is Ellie Whitehall, of the Whitehall Inc. Whitehalls," Gus said.

"Wait, is that the company that makes those little pastry cakes?" Shawn asked excitedly.

Gus raised an eyebrow. "No, Shawn," he said. "They're a computer software company. Really successful, and she's a shareholder. My guess is that Mrs. Whitehall has quite a bit of money."

"Hmm, I'm not feeling as good about this as I would if they were pastry makers," Shawn said. "Except it does answer one question."

"What?" Gus asked.

Shawn held up a finger, and picked up his phone. "Hello, Mrs. Arlin. How are you today? That's wonderful news. I'm very glad to hear it. My name is Dill Von Brugal. I'm actually calling from Santa Barbara BMW. We just wanted to check in and make sure that everything was going well with your car."

"Oh, it's fine, I think," she told him. "But really, it's my husband that drives it."

Shawn grinned over at Gus. "Well, that's good to hear, Mrs. Arlin. Thank you for your time."

He hung up the phone. "Arlin may not own a BMW, but his wife does," he said.

Gus was frowning at him. "How did you get her number?" he asked.

"The White Pages on line," Shawn said. "I do know how to work Google, too, you know."

Gus bristled. "Well, it's still circumstantial," he said.

"Dude, I was right about everything and you know it," Shawn said. "Admit it. I was right, and you were wrong, and you're totally a repeat offender against the Code of Friendship."

"There's no such thing as a Code of Friendship, Shawn," Gus snapped.

"Oh, contraire," Shawn said. He opened his file cabinet, and pulled out the only piece of paper that it held. It was a single sheet of notebook paper, and had been written on with blue crayon. He flattened it against the desk. "The Code of Friendship, by Shawn and Gus, 1987."

"You have to be kidding me," Gus said.

"Rule Number One, I shalt not sell out my best friend to his parents (addendum: selling Shawn out to his father is especially not allowed, because he has a gun)," Shawn read. "Rule Number Two, I shall always believe in my best friend, even when everyone else says he is wrong. Rule Number Three, I shall attempt to limit the use of contractions. That one was yours."

"I get the point, Shawn," Gus snapped.

"So admit you were wrong, and I was right," Shawn said triumphantly.

"You were right," Gus said. "But I'd still do the same thing again, Code of Friendship or not."

"You just used a contraction," Shawn said. "Will your rule-breaking ways never end?"

Gus glared at him. "I _am_ sorry I did not believe you, Shawn."

Shawn was considering whether or not to let him off the hook that easily, when his phone started ringing. He answered it as he shut down his laptop. "Von Brugal speaking," he said.

"Shawn?" The voice was uncertain, but Shawn recognized it instantly.

"Ingles!" he said happily. "Did you get sprung?"

"No, I'm still in the slammer," he said. "You're my one phone call."

"Wow," Shawn said. "I don't think I've ever been anyone's one phone call before. I mean, I've had one phone calls, but it's new being on this end of it."

"I wanted to tell you that smelled really nice earlier," Ingles said. "Like pineapples and sunshine."

"That was very thoughtful," Shawn said. "Still, you probably would have been better off calling a lawyer, in the long run."

"I don't have a lawyer," Ingles said. "But they said they would give me one. I'm worried, though, Shawn. I don't have any cigarettes. I don't even smoke. I don't think I'm going to do well in prison."

"Well, it's a good thing that you decided to stalk me," Shawn said. "It just so happens that this kind of thing is my specialty. I don't mean prison, of course, but avoiding going there in the first place. Don't worry, Ingles. I'm going to get you out."

"Please hurry," Ingles said, whispered into the phone. "The tall one scares me. Oh god, he's coming back."

Then the line went dead. Shawn frowned at the phone for a moment before jumping to his feet, and grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair.

"Where are you going?" Gus asked.

"I need to go see Ingles," Shawn told him.

"We've got a murderer to investigate," Gus protested.

"Dude, get your priorities straight," Shawn said. "First, we have to go rescue my stalker."

"From what?" Gus demanded, as he followed Shawn out of the office and back to the car.

"From Lassiter, apparently," Shawn said.

xxxxxxx

Buzz rushed to meet them when they entered the station. "Shawn, I'm so glad you're here," he said. "The Chief has been trying to reach you. She wants to see you."

"Of course," Shawn said. "We'll get right on that. Hey, Buzz, where's Ingles Dupree?"

"He's in integration room two, with Lassiter," Buzz said.

"Okay, thanks," Shawn said, and he moved with Gus to head to the interrogation room, taking the indirect route that was outside of the view of Chief Vick's office.

"Shawn," Buzz said. "But the Chief--"

"I'm going right to see her, right now," Shawn told him.

"You're going the wrong way," Buzz protested.

"I like the scenic route," Shawn told him, before giving Gus a push and disappearing down the hall. "Come on," he said. He slipped inside the opposite room with Gus, so they would be able to see the interrogation through the one-way glass.

Ingles was sitting politely at the table, with his hands folded on the surface. He was still wearing his helmet.

Lassiter was on his feet, glaring down at him, with his arms crossed across his chest. Shawn didn't really find Lassiter scary at all, but he had to admit, he wouldn't want to be on his bad side.

Well, his _really_ bad side. Shawn was kind of constantly on his _bad side_. Or possibly that actually was Lassiter's good side, and that was a scary thought.

"Where were you the night of the fifteenth?" Lassiter demanded.

"I can't remember!" Ingles said helplessly. "You should ask Shawn. His memory is much better than mine."

"So you admit you were with him?" Lassiter asked. "You ran him off the road, didn't you? Just couldn't help yourself."

"What? No! I can never keep up with him when he's on his motorcycle," Ingles said. "My scooter doesn't go fast enough. I would have helped him if I'd been there!"

"Like you helped him last night, when you broke into his father's house and tried to kill him?" Lassiter asked.

"Well, that's not at all leading," Shawn commented.

"What?" Ingles asked. "I would never do that! Shawn is like the beacon for all humanity. That there are people like him gives me hope."

Gus turned to look at Shawn. "Okay, I'm starting to understand why you like having this guy around."

"It's just nice to finally meet someone that understands me so well," Shawn told him.

Lassiter scrunched up his face. "I'm sure," he said. "Where were you, then?"

"I was in the bushes," Ingles admitted. "In the backyard. I swear, all I saw was a BMW as it drove off."

"The BMW," Lassiter said. "And I suppose you didn't see the plates?"

"No," Ingles said. "It was dark and I didn't have my night-vision goggles because the police were still at my apartment."

"See?" Shawn said. "Even Ingles has night-vision goggles."

"We're not writing them off as a business expense," Gus snapped. "If you want them you're just going to have to buy them yourself."

Lassiter leaned on the table, and glared at Ingles. "What about the break-in at Psych," he said. "I suppose you didn't have anything to do with that, either?"

"Of course not," Ingles said. "I just like to observe. I'm like an anthropologist. I don't disturb the natural habitat."

Shawn hit the intercom. "Ask him about his psychiatrist," he said.

Lassiter straightened up. "Spencer! Where are you?"

"I am talking to you from the spirit plane," Shawn intoned, deepening his voice.

Lassiter's eyes narrowed at the mirror, staring almost straight at him. "Get out of there, Spencer."

"Shawn!" Ingles shouted. "Shawn, help me!"

Shawn was about to hit the intercom again when the door swung open, and the Chief glared in at them. "My office," she said. "Now."

Shawn waited until she closed the door and then hit the intercom. "I will be back," he said, in his best Arnold impersonation. Ingles grinned in relief and Lassiter continued to glare.

"The Chief didn't look happy with you," Gus said, as they headed towards the Chief's office.

"How do you know she's not unhappy with you?" Shawn asked.

"Please, Shawn," Gus said. "It's always you."

Shawn sighed, mostly because it was true. "We've got to get Ingles free," he said. "He's right. He's not going to do well in prison."

"Why don't you just tell the police it was Arlin?" Gus asked.

"Because you were right," Shawn said. "We don't have any real evidence yet. Even if I have a psychic vision, it's not exactly something that will hold up in court. We need that one missing link, Gus. We've got the car, but it's not enough. We need to prove he knew her."

"How are you going to do that?" Gus asked.

"It'll come to me," Shawn said.

Shawn and Gus walked into the Chief's office, where she stood waiting. "Get the door," she said.

Gus turned to close it, and Shawn grabbed him by the sleeve, just in case he thought to run away again. Reluctantly, Gus closed the door while he was still inside the room.

"I just need to take your statement," she said. "We need to file charges. So far, we have stalking, and two murder attempts. Am I missing anything?"

"Pretty much everything, actually," Shawn said.

"Mr. Spencer," Vick snapped.

"Okay, I'll give you that he's a stalker," Shawn said. "He didn't try to kill me."

"You were run off the road--"

"He drives a scooter," Shawn said. "Lassiter will testify to that. I think I would have noticed if I was run off the road by a scooter."

"Mr. Spencer," Vick said, with feigned patience. "Will you press charges or not? As it is I can only hold him forty-eight hours. I want to start the paperwork for a restraining order now so it will be in effect in case he is released."

"No," Shawn said certainly. "In fact, I refuse to press any charges against him."

"Noted," Vick said coldly. "Mr. Dupree still isn't going anywhere."

"You can do that? I just said--"

"Someone tried to kill you, twice, Mr. Spencer," Vick said. "And then there's Amber Delaney."

"What about her?" Shawn asked.

"Mr. Guster told us the first time he saw Mr. Dupree was outside of Alice Clothing," she said.

"You're trying to pin a murder on him now too?" Shawn asked disbelievingly. "Look, Ingles was following me for weeks before that. I'm the only reason he was there."

Vick's eyes widened. "Weeks? Mr. Spencer--" Vick broke off, stopping herself from giving another futile lecture. "Be that as it may, this is our best lead. I'm holding him for forty-eight hours at least. If forensics finds anything on the scene that can be tied to him, possibly longer than that."

"But he didn't even know her," Shawn protested. "There's no motive."

"I'm surprised at you, Mr. Spencer," Vick said. "I thought you, of all people, would already know."

"Know what?" he asked.

"Mr. Dupree and Amber Delaney were seeing the same psychiatrist," she told him, before heading back into the bullpen.

Shawn turned to Gus and grinned. "I told you it would come to me," he said. He held out his fist, and Gus slyly tapped it with his own.

"You know you got lucky," he said.

"It's time for my favorite part," Shawn said. "Brace yourself for the wrap up to end all wrap ups. I'm talking top twelve, at least."

"Consider me braced," Gus said.

"I just have to get Arlin down here first." Shawn pulled out his cell phone, and dialed Juliet. "Jules, I need a favor," he said.

"Shawn," Juliet greeted. "When were you a Chippendales dancer?"

"I'm guessing you're still at Ingles's place," Shawn said wryly.

"There are pictures of you everywhere," she said. "I feel like I'm being watched."

"That's because you are," Shawn said. "You know how they say pictures capture a piece of the soul? Well, that's true, and as a psychic, I remain connected. I can see you right now. You look very nice."

"Not helping," Juliet said. "But seriously? Chippendales?"

"It was actually just one night," he explained. "I was the bartender there, and one of the dancers didn't show up. Seriously, you guys should hire this guy. His research is amazingly in-depth. I don't know how he got pictures of that, and the Jalisco Verde!! posters were limited edition."

Gus reached over and hit Shawn on the arm, motioning for him to get to the point.

"Oh, and by the way I solved the case," Shawn told her. "Can you pick up Dr. Arlin and bring him to the station?"

"What?" Juliet asked. "Why do you want me to do that?"

"Please, Jules? Just tell him you need him to make another statement," Shawn said. "How you get him here doesn't really matter."

"Okay," Juliet said. "Just so you know, I'm making copies of the Chippendales pictures. I want to have blackmail material just in case."

"You can make as many copies as you want," Shawn said. "I know I looked good. I'm not ashamed."

Juliet laughed, and Shawn snapped his phone shut.

"What was that about?" Gus asked suspiciously.

"Jules was just teasing me about my stint as a Chippendales dancer," he told him.

Gus snorted. "If you don't want to tell me, then just say so. You don't need to make up some ridiculous lie."

"I'll keep that in mind," Shawn said.

xxxxxxxx

Shawn was just considering starting the big reveal without the guest of honor when Juliet and Dr. Arlin finally arrived. Dr. Arlin did not look happy to be there. In fact, he looked decidedly unhappy to be there. Juliet didn't look in the best of moods either, and Shawn wondered briefly what she had to tell him to get him here.

"Okay, Shawn," she said. "What is it?"

"Mr. Von Brugal?" Arlin said.

Juliet looked at him strangely before turning a narrow-eyed look on Shawn. "Shawn, what did you--"

"Sorry, Jules, can't talk now," he said. "I have to go solve a murder."

Shawn climbed up onto Lassiter's desk, nearly knocking over his mug before coming to rest with his sneakers half on the pile of paper sitting in the in-box. "If I can have everyone's attention, please," he said, and clapped his hands. "I have a message from the spirit of Alice Clothing--"

"Alice Clothing," Vick said, coming to stand in front of him, glaring up suspiciously. "Mr. Spencer."

"The walls there have eyes, I cannot even attempt to explain it, but there are spirits there, and they have informed me that there has, in fact, been a murder."

Lassiter came walking into the room, pulling Ingles along behind him. He frowned when he saw Shawn. "Spencer, why are you standing on my desk?"

"Lassie! Ingles! Good. You should be here for this." Shawn said. Shawn closed his eyes for a moment, spreading his arms out at his sides. "This was never about me--" he paused. "Well, no, actually it was entirely about me, but not in the way our murderer wanted us to think, oh no. He wanted me off all the current cases and he wanted the department distracted. He may have been researching me, following me, but he's not crazy and he's not obsessed, this was all calculated from the start."

Shawn looked to where Lassiter was holding onto Ingles. "I was right when I said that Ingles was harmless. He didn't write that letter and he didn't try to kill me. He didn't even break into the agency. Admittedly, the creepy shrine was his, which reminds me, Ingles, I think I'm going to have to cancel our lunch on Friday because things have gotten weird."

"Spencer!" Lassiter snapped.

Shawn seamlessly returned to his speech. "But Ingles, strange as he is, would never hurt a soul. He's been working through his issues, he wants to get better. And he trusted Dr. Arlin so much, he confided in him. He told him everything." Shawn spun in place until his eyes met with Dr. Arlin's.

"Oh, Edward, that's why you told us that Ingles was dangerous. You wrote that letter yourself. It's textbook escalation, and you knew exactly what to say to get a reaction."

Dr. Arlin laughed kind of awkwardly. "What possible reason would I have to do that?"

"Because you were there that day watching me," Shawn closed his eyes again, hand held to his forehead. "Oh you were there, because you wanted to make sure that we left thinking it was simple vandalism. But you knew it was suspicious, having one of the employees mysteriously leaving right before it happened. You knew that eventually the police would want to talk to her."

"Spencer," Lassiter said warningly. Shawn continued to ignore him.

"And once you saw that I was working the case, you panicked. You knew who I was. You couldn't not. Ingles did nothing but talk and talk about how wonderful and infallible I was, that my solve rate was a stunning 100, and you just couldn't risk that I'd figure it out."

"This is ridiculous!" Dr. Arlin protested. Juliet came to block his way when he started to turn towards the door.

"Amber didn't go anywhere, she was right there in that building all the time, until you broke in, and took her out."

"Shawn," Juliet said. "What are you--"

"Check the list of BMW owners again, Jules," Shawn said. "It's probably under his wife's name. She's the one with the money, but he's never really loved her. That's how it started with Amber, right? You were both so unhappy."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Arlin snapped.

"It was a moment of passion," Shawn said. "And it was so easy, wasn't it? No one liked her. She had no family aside from her husband, and he was out of the country. The problem was, he was coming back, and she wanted to break it off with you. She wanted to try and work things out with him. So you killed her. And you knew no one would question it too much when she just disappeared."

Shawn jumped back down off the desk and stood in front of Arlin. "You dragged her body down to the basement and went to get your car, but by the time you got back Kelly was already there. You didn't know she would be coming in early that day and she interrupted you. You couldn't get back in until the next day, and this time no one could let you in because no one could know you'd ever been there. So you broke in, and you planned it to look like a run of the mill gang break in. The pink spray paint, now that was a nice touch."

Arlin had gone entirely pale. "She thought she could leave me," he said, softly. "She was just going to leave me. I didn't mean to do it."

"Of course you didn't," Shawn said. "You should know, considering your line of work, that most people never do."

"Edward Arlin," Juliet said. "I'm placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?"

Arlin nodded vaguely as Juliet led him away. Shawn turned back to Lassiter and Ingles. "Now, Lassie," he said, "if you don't mind? I think Ingles is free to go."

Lassiter looked depressed. "He's still a crazy stalker, and he was so hard to find--"

"Oh, just let him go, detective," Vick said wearily. Then she narrowed her eyes at Ingles. "But you might want to get out of town. I hear anything, and I mean anything, about you following my psychic around again, and I'll lock you away and throw away the key."

Lassiter grinned widely at the prospect, and Ingles made a hasty escape, turning back only as he reached the door. "I'll call you, Shawn!" he shouted, and then ran when Lassiter moved to grab him again.

Gus walked over to join him. "Pretty good," he said. "But I think it's more like top fifteen."

"Oh, come on," Shawn protested. "The part about the break-in all being staged just so he could get her body out? I'd go so far as to say this makes the top seven."

"Yeah, but you said the building told you," Gus said. "That's pretty lame."

"There weren't a lot of props around at the time, Gus, cut me some slack," Shawn said.

"Spencer, can I talk with you?" Lassiter asked.

He looked serious. Which, really, didn't tell Shawn much of anything. Lassiter always looked serious. "Is this about your desk? Because I think the footprints actually add character."

"Excuse us," Lassiter said to Gus, and then grabbed Shawn and pulled him down the hall. He only stopped when they reached a somewhat secluded corner. Shawn watched Lassiter carefully, wondering what this was about.

"You did good today," he said finally, and it looked like it was physically painful for him to force the words out. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

Shawn wanted to rub it in, make a joke, break the serious mood. Somehow, he couldn't get himself to do it, not when Lassiter was standing there telling him that he'd done good when it so obviously hurt him to do it. "Thanks," Shawn said eventually.

Lassiter nodded and turned to leave, but this time Shawn was the one to grab him, and hold him back. "But you still think I'm a fraud," Shawn said.

Lassiter looked at the floor. "I don't think fraud was quite the right word."

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Shawn said, almost genuinely touched.

Lassiter almost smiled. "I know this much," he said. "You're still no psychic."

"If you don't think I'm psychic, and you don't think I'm a fraud--then just what do you think I am?" Shawn asked.

Lassiter shook his head and started to walk away. This time Shawn let him.

"I wish I knew," Lassiter said.

xxxxxxx

Shawn was shaking his recently returned Magic 8 Ball when Gus entered the office. "How's it going?" Gus asked.

"The Magic 8 Ball says concentrate and ask again," Shawn said.

Gus dropped his jacket on his desk. "Have you had any news on the case? Did they find out what happened to Amber?"

"Reply hazy, try again," he said.

Gus reached out and pulled the Magic 8 Ball from his hands. "Shawn," he snapped. "I will hurt you."

Shawn glanced up at him, and then looked away. It bothered Gus that he didn't ask for the ball back.

"He confessed, and told the police where he buried her," Shawn told him. "He put her in a vacant lot, where his wife was going to build them a house. They were going to pour the foundation next week."

"That's awful," Gus said.

"The thing is, it nearly worked," Shawn said quietly. "He forged a letter to Amber's husband too, saying that she was leaving him for another man. He probably suspected the affair, so he didn't question it, and anyway, he was probably too bitter to really care."

"You cared," Gus said.

Shawn tilted his head back. "Yeah," he said. "There was something about the way her name was just crossed out on that board. Like she was already forgotten, like no one was asking why."

"Shawn--"

"I was right though, it really was a series of unfortunate events. What are the chances of the murderer being my stalker's psychiatrist?" he asked. "That's pretty unfortunate."

Gus sat down across from him, but didn't try to say anything else. He let Shawn talk. Shawn always felt better when he was talking.

"The funniest thing is," Shawn said, "if he hadn't tried so hard to distract me, I don't think I ever would have known that something was wrong. He would have gotten away with it."

"You would have figured it out," Gus said with certainty. "You knew from the moment you walked in there that the break-in was staged. I do have faith in you, you know."

"I know," Shawn said. "And I try to limit my contractions, for you."

Gus laughed, relief finally setting in. No one was trying to kill his best friend anymore. He wouldn't have to get that sick feeling every single time the phone rang. At least, not until the next case.

He leaned back in the chair, just starting to relax, when he noticed the camera in the corner ceiling of the room. "Why is there a camera in the office?" Gus asked. "Did we finally get a security system?"

"No, that's the Ingles cam," Shawn said, and turned to wave at the camera. "He said he couldn't go cold turkey on the whole not stalking me thing, so we decided to go digital to wean him off."

"You are seriously disturbed," Gus said. "We're getting rid of the camera, Shawn."

"Do you want him to revert back to following me around?" Shawn asked.

"I want him to be put in a padded cell where he belongs," Gus snapped.

"Shh!" Shawn said. "Gus, he can hear you."

Gus looked nervously at the camera, and then he grabbed his jacket and quickly backed out of the office. "I'm getting out of here, Shawn, and that camera better be gone when I come back!"

After he left, Henry came to lean in the doorway from the back room. "Why didn't you just tell him I was installing a security system?" he asked, swinging the screwdriver he'd used to install it.

"Because that wouldn't have been nearly as fun," Shawn said simply.

Henry just grinned and shook his head. "Do me a favor, huh? Tell me the next time you get a stalker."

"I was right though, Ingles was harmless," Shawn said.

"You could have been wrong," Henry said.

"But I wasn't," Shawn argued.

"Someday you might be," Henry said. "Just be careful."

Shawn eyed his father speculatively. "I don't know how you ever thought you would handle me being a cop," he said. "You're really quite a closet-worrier."

"If you were a cop, you'd be trained, and you'd have a gun," Henry said.

"We both know I'm better trained than most cops," Shawn said.

"Be that as it may, you lack discipline, Shawn. You always have."

"I have you," Shawn said. "I honestly don't think I've ever been without it."

"Self-discipline, Shawn," Henry said, grabbing his toolbox.

"Oh, that," Shawn said.

Henry started to leave, but he paused before reaching the door. "What did happen to your friendly neighborhood stalker?" he asked.

"He decided to return to his true calling," Shawn said. "He's going to move to Switzerland to continue to stalk Phil Collins. He actually gave me the it's not you it's me speech."

"Sorry, kid," Henry said, trying not to grin. "I know how much having a stalker meant to you."

"I know, it's weird, right? But it was kind of nice," Shawn said. "And I think I miss him."

"Where did I go wrong with you?" Henry asked, almost fondly.

Shawn laughed, and crossed his legs on his desk. "You got all night?" he asked.

_The End_


End file.
